


Dim the Lights and Sing You Songs

by Polaris



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Eventual Snake Sex, Identity Porn, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Moment of Silence for the Rat in the Freezer, Sexting, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: A few months prior to leaving the Dowling household, Crowley had downloaded Grindr for the sole purpose of catfishing randy morons. He wasnotexpecting a paragraph that began with: ‘hello. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you have the most lovely nipples.’Crowley keeps trying to meet his Grindr fuckbuddy. Aziraphale keeps showing up at all his meeting spots. This is terrible.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 234
Kudos: 1118
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Courts GO Re-Reads, Most Favs





	1. Chapter 1

’Do you want to keep watching?’ Netflix politely inquired after the ninth consecutive episode of The Great British Bake-Off.

Crowley glared at the screen until the message obediently removed itself. The next episode started, allowing him to go back to staring blankly at the telly while the soothing sounds of people being kind to one another floated over him. It was mindless, which was exactly what he needed right now.

The world hadn’t ended, and he was going completely spare. Things were both completely the same and nothing like they had been. After he and Aziraphale had gone to lunch at the Ritz, they’d gotten drunk at the bookshop together, toasting their newfound freedom. And Crowley had slept on the sofa like he’d done a hundred times before. Nothing new. Aziraphale hadn’t even bothered to wake him up before opening the next morning, so he’d opened his eyes and squinted at a small child staring into his face while her mother browsed antique cookbooks.

And now he was sitting in his flat watching telly without worrying about Hastur’s ugly face popping into his Netflix queue. That was new, and Crowley had to say he was a fan. But really, shouldn’t the world nearly ending feel like more? Crowley wanted to kiss Aziraphale, or construct a giant flaming middle finger facing Heaven, or _something_ to commemorate his freedom.

Instead, he was sat here watching his ninth consecutive hour of The Great British Bake-Off. Alone.

It was pitiful, and he knew it. A cooler demon would be out on the town, slinking through clubs and blessing and tempting left and right, however he saw fit. Maybe inspire some lust, or wrath, but directed at people who would actually benefit from it. Crowley liked morally ambiguous things.

Onscreen, someone was crying.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and waved his hand. The tv went black, and he picked up his phone with a sigh. Word Cookies would pass some time, but he got frustrated when Aziraphale wasn’t around to help him with the tricky words. He could always leave brutally honest Amazon reviews, but that didn’t ease the frustrated prickle under his skin. 

He was, he realized, lonely.

By rights, this meant he ought to call Aziraphale. Ask him out for lunch—or dinner, he realized as he looked at the time on his phone. Or they could go to a pub, maybe. It had been ages, and Aziraphale liked novelty. And they could drink, and Crowley could wait for Aziraphale to close the last of the distance between them, and when Aziraphale didn’t he could come right back here and watch more Great British Bake-Off.

Crowley stared at the wall while he let _that_ sink in. And just as he was contemplating falling asleep for the rest of time, a notification popped up on his phone.

He blinked, then opened it and felt his face stretch with a grin. A few months prior to leaving the Dowling household, Crowley had downloaded Grindr for the sole purpose of catfishing randy morons, and as a consequence he was still occasionally surprised with a grainy photo of a random cock. This one wasn’t as bad as some—there had been an attempt to get creative with angles—but it was hardly inspiring. He took a screenshot.

A moment later a message popped up: ‘saw your pic. Wanna fuck?’

Crowley sighed. He’d altered his features pretty heavily one bored afternoon and had a photoshoot in his loo, eventually deciding on a photo of just his bare torso and a pair of extremely tight, unbuttoned trousers. It was irresistible to the desperate and classless.

‘You should use lighting filters,’ he sent back. ‘In your dick pics, I mean. Your cock looks a bit like a yam in the photo you sent.’

‘Fuck you,’ came the less than creative reply, and Crowley snickered. That was two blokes in London who weren’t getting what they wanted tonight.

He was prepared to toss the phone aside and get some ice cream to eat while he watched more Great British Bake-Off when another chat notification went off. Bemused, Crowley opened it, expecting a crude request for head.

What he was _not_ expecting was a paragraph that began with: ‘hello. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you have the most lovely nipples. I’d love to push your shirt up and lick them until they tighten under my tongue. And then perhaps bite my way down your torso to your glorious hipbones and leave a few marks on your pretty skin before you let me see what’s in those very attractive trousers of yours. Would that be amenable to you?’

Crowley blinked at the message. And then he blinked again, stupidly, staring at his phone with what he was just sure was a gobsmacked expression. 

No one talked like that on Grindr. No one was that filthy and that polite at the same time. They certainly didn’t have impeccable grammar and punctuation. And they didn’t use words like ‘amenable’ when talking about giving him a blowjob.

Crowley sort of dug it.

‘Usually men just send photos of their cocks,’ he wrote back. 

‘That seemed presumptuous,’ the reply came instantly. ‘Would you like one?’

Crowley goggled at his phone. Would he like one? The man’s profile pic was a black-and-white photo, probably from the late nineteenth century, of two pretty young men engaged in—he squinted—oh lord. Crowley’s mind flashed back to poor innocent Aziraphale making that comment about lick butt. Bless that ridiculous angel. No idea what he was on about.

Crowley didn’t fuck humans. There was too much lying, for one thing, and then there was the fact that they got old and died so quickly. It wasn’t worth the effort or the pain. And there had always been the ghost of Aziraphale, whose coy looks drove Crowley mad in all the best ways and who made those little noises when he ate. What human could compete with that?

But Aziraphale wasn’t offering, and this anonymous internet human was. And Crowley was just bored and melancholy enough to type back, ‘only if you write me another paragraph telling me what you’d like me to do with it.’

‘Give me a moment, please,’ came the response, and Crowley bit his lip. 

He’d never anticipated a dick pic before. This was novel, and like any immortal being who was prone to boredom, novelty was something Crowley adored. It was why he followed trends so religiously. This was fantastic.

He was damn near squirming by the time the next message came through. And oh, there it was, a lovely hard cock, plump and pink and just a bit shiny at the tip. Crowley admired the lighting and angle, and the fine pale hairs at the base of it. Perfect. Crowley had a thing for blondes that was absolutely unrelated to Aziraphale. 

Before he could express his appreciation, the promised paragraph appeared: ‘Without knowing what you prefer, it’s hard to say exactly what I’d like you to do with it, although I’m never one to turn down oral sex. If your mouth is as pretty as the rest of you, I think I’d like that very much. I prefer it sloppy. It excites me to think of myself as a treat to be savored. Would you like to taste me?’

Crowley swallowed loudly, sitting back and taking a moment. This was...well. Eroticism was something Crowley usually only experienced on the periphery, aside from tantalizing glimpses of Aziraphale’s forearms on the rare occasions when he rolled up his sleeves. He was forced to admit that this was probably the hottest thing to ever happen to him in his life.

But he wasn’t prepared to examine that just now. No, now he was free to enjoy sexting with strangers, so he let himself imagine it. How silky skin would glide over his lips, and the way he could stick his tongue out, just a bit, to taste the salt at the tip. And the weight on his tongue, hot and heavy, while an indistinct man groaned above him.

‘God yes,’ he typed back. ‘It’s beautiful. I bet you taste as good as you look.’

‘Thank you,’ came the absurdly prim reply, and if that made Crowley squirm more, then no one but him had to know. ‘You’re very polite. What sorts of things do you enjoy in the bedroom? I try to be considerate.’

Oh lord. Crowley gulped. The truth was, he’d barely spent any time on sexual fantasies, preferring to ignore his libido since it would only serve to make things awkward with a particular angel. Some demons fucked; to Crowley’s knowledge, no angels ever did. So lusting with no object of desire had seemed rather sad and pointless. 

Still, he had a very good imagination. And he’d rather liked fantasizing about sucking the man’s cock. Idly, he pondered what else he might like to do with an interested party. 

‘You could fuck me with it,’ he typed. ‘Push me back over a desk and make me take it.’ Yeah, that was a nice thought. 

‘A desk?’ the mystery man typed back. ‘My, you’re naughty. Would you like me to hold you down too? I think you’d look absolutely delicious with your arms stretched out over your head and your back arched. I could fuck you just like that if you wanted, and you would have to ask me nicely to touch your cock.’

Crowley cleared his throat loudly, shifting a bit. He was fully hard now, and wondering whether he ought to miracle up a sex toy for the express purposes of wanking shamelessly on his own desk. ‘I can be very nice,’ he wrote back. 

‘I’m sure. I think I would enjoy spoiling a polite thing like you. But first I think I’d like to make you beg. There’s something wonderful about a beautiful man begging to be touched, don’t you think?’

Crowley’s hand strayed toward his fly. ‘So can I touch it?’ he sent, biting his lip.

‘I think you should ask me nicely.’ The response was instant, and that sent a delightful little shiver down Crowley’s spine. This man wanted him, badly enough that he didn’t make him wait.

‘Please, will you let me touch my cock?’ he sent, slightly amazed at his own shamelessness. Well, he should be shameless, shouldn’t he? He was a demon after all. Shameless was part of the deal.

But that was a different sort of shameless, the kind that seduced and pretended and wove around someone else’s fantasies to lead them where he wanted them to go. Not this. This was just for him.

‘Of course. Gently, please, and take a photo. I want to see your hand wrapped around your cock.’ 

Oh, Crowley had netted himself a freak. He yanked open his jeans with one hand, pulling up the camera app with the other and groaning with relief as he wrapped a hand around his cock. He forced himself to focus, to adjust the lighting just so and snap the photo at just the right angle to make his dick look good. Crowley was an expert at keeping up appearances, after all. He gave it a once-over and decided it was good enough. Then once he’d sent it, he sat there tense with anticipation. Literally with his dick in his hand, waiting on this man to tell him what to do next.

‘My, that would make a lovely mouthful,’ he finally told Crowley. ‘Touch it slowly and tell me how it feels.’

Crowley slowly dragged his fist up his cock, letting his head fall back from the pleasure of it. ‘Feels good,’ he wrote. ‘Wish it was your mouth instead of my hand.’

‘I could feast on a cock as pretty as yours,’ the man told him. ‘Would you like it if I held your hips still and sucked you very slow?’

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, speeding up for a second before he forgot himself. This was so filthy, and he found himself dizzy with lust. It was a new experience, dwarfing every pang he’d felt before. Now he was letting himself feel it, embracing all the messy, human urges this corporation came with and reveling in the feel of his own body. He wanted to fuck a mouth. Any mouth, although his mind automatically went to Aziraphale’s—

And skipped. Because Crowley could apparently go lots of places when his libido kicked up, but that wasn’t one of them. Aziraphale was for undefined longing, not for the vile things Crowley was imagining right now.

‘Are you there?’ the man asked; Crowley realized he’d been staring into space for a bit. He blinked rapidly and replied, ‘yeah, I’m here. Just trying not to go too fast.’

The moment he sent it he regretted his choice of words. But it was only a moment before the reply came back to him: ‘I’ve no complaints about the speed. Lick your hand. Get yourself very wet and then rub your cock until you come for me.’

Crowley groaned and did it; his hand tasted like salt and, faintly, of come, and he gave into the urge to suck on his fingers sloppily. Didn’t the man say he liked it sloppy? Crowley could do that, Crowley could be a messy little whore if he wanted. And oh, that thought made him throb. He wanted to be called filthy names by this proper gentleman. He imagined letting the man spread his legs, face indistinct as he told Crowley that he was perfect, and pretty, and sweet.

‘Talk to me more,’ he managed to send, fingers clumsy as he stroked his cock. ‘I’m doing what you said, I’m going slow. Tell me I’m good?’

‘You’re wonderful, you lovely thing. Oh, I imagine you’d be just beautiful on your knees, touching yourself so slowly while my cock slid past your lips. You want to come very badly, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Crowley typed, entirely thanks to his autocorrect.

‘I’m going to let you. Just as soon as I come down your throat, or perhaps all over your pretty face. But first I’d want you to beg me with your eyes. A man’s eyes can be terribly expressive when his mouth is otherwise occupied.’

‘Please,’ was all Crowley could reply; he was fucking his fist now, rapidly working out how to bring himself closer and closer to orgasm. It had been awhile, and he’d made a new cock since then, but it really was like riding a bike. He tried to be helpful. ‘Come on my face,’ he managed after a moment.

‘Gorgeous, filthy thing,’ was the prompt reply. Crowley loved that, he loved being worth replying to instantly. ‘The only real trouble is that I’d also want to come all over your pert little nipples. I do hate having to choose, you see. When I’ve got such an eager creature to play with, I get quite carried away.’

Crowley squeezed the base of his cock while thumbing the head, a delicious tease that nevertheless kept him from going off right there. ‘Whatever you want. I’ll take it all.’ His fingers seemed to be working without the active participation of his brain, which was fine. His brain was massively overrated if it’d kept him from enjoying this sort of thing for so long. 

‘Your face, I think,’ the man decided. ‘Since you requested it. And then I could tip your chin up and lick you clean, just as though you were a soft little kitten. You’d stay very still for me while I did that, wouldn’t you? You’re so polite, after all. And when I’d finished, I could kiss your sweet mouth and tell you in a whisper to come for me.’

“Ngk,” said Crowley in the stillness of his flat, and arched into the twist of his gut as a surge of pure lust went through him. _Fuck,_ the thought of that—being used so softly, velvet ropes and such—that had him close. So close, and he had permission, didn’t he? Oh, his whole body quivered at the thought of a man whispering such sweet filthy words to him, against his ear or his lips, being _ordered_ to come because someone wanted to see—

It was just his luck, really, that when he did come he managed to shoot himself right in the eye. He yowled, rolling half off the sofa and dropping his phone in his instinctive move to cover his eye with his free hand. Orgasm ruined, he miracled the offending come out of his bloody eyeball and glared at the ceiling. 

“I hate you,” he told God, half meaning it this time.

He sighed, irritated with his entire existence, and picked up his phone again. As though the universe was offering a consolation prize, there was another photo of that beautiful pink cock, this time messy and dripping with pearly white come. ‘Look what you did, you lovely thing,’ was the attached message.

Crowley shivered, biting his lip at the sight. ‘Beautiful,’ he wrote back. He thought about adding something saucy, maybe about offering to clean it up with his tongue, but it seemed a bit much.

‘I’m so glad you like it,’ the man replied. ‘This was very nice. Would you like to meet sometime and try this in person? I’m in London.’

‘I’m in London too,’ wrote Crowley, torn between terror and delight at the prospect of meeting someone for sex. He knew it was the done thing, it just...wasn’t done by him. But it could be.

What if the man was ugly? Crowley didn’t know what he looked like. He could smell. He could have rancid breath. Worse, he could think _Crowley_ was ugly. What if he didn’t like what he saw? 

Crowley sat there, paralyzed by the possibilities, until his phone made another noise at him. 

‘I completely understand if you’d prefer not to.’ The message seemed stiff compared to the others, although that was probably Crowley projecting. He did that, sometimes.

‘I want to,’ he sent impulsively. ‘When?’

‘I’m free Tuesday afternoon,’ the man answered. ‘Is that an option for you?’

Tuesdays were perfect. Crowley had nothing on at all on Tuesdays. Aziraphale kept his bookshop closed for reasons known only to him, and Crowley was left to his own devices. Today was Sunday—rather late—and this would give him just enough time to panic extensively, change his mind several times, change his outfit more, and generally fall apart and pull himself back together by the time they actually met. 

‘Sure,’ he typed, ‘Tuesday is fine. Any particular time?’

That sounded very smooth, he thought, and stuffed his cock back into his jeans.

‘I could meet for coffee in the afternoon, unless you’ve got to work,’ the man suggested.

‘Nah,’ Crowley told him. ‘Flexible hours.’ That was one way of putting it.

‘Perfect,’ said the man. ‘There’s an absolutely wonderful little place in Soho called Bar Termini. Do you like charcuterie?’

‘I know the place,’ Crowley said. He’d been dragged there by Aziraphale often enough; charcuterie was one of the angel’s weaknesses that Crowley dearly loved to indulge.

‘Excellent! Shall we meet at three?’ Crowley found himself charmed by the way the man spelled the number out. ‘We can chat a bit about what we like and possibly go back to mine after.’

Crowley nodded, then typed ‘sounds good,’ when he realized the man couldn’t see him. They were going to meet at three. And then possibly go back to the man’s place after. For sex. In which Crowley would definitely not come in his own eyeball again, because he was cool and collected.

Satisfied, he closed the app and went to get himself some ice cream. The dead rat in his freezer stared at him accusingly, as if it knew all his myriad sins.

“Shut up,” he told it, and closed the freezer door. He only kept it on hand because he was due to shed soon anyway, and he liked having a snack ready after. And he’d kept it from being eaten alive by some spoiled pet python. It had no call to judge him like that. 

Honestly, it could fuck right off. The Great British Bake-Off was calling.


	2. Chapter 2

Predictably, Crowley did change his mind—and outfit—several times on Monday, and again on Tuesday morning. However, when he’d calmed himself down and decided upon a variation on his usual black everything, he found himself rather excited by the whole endeavor. 

This random man didn’t know the demon Crowley, serpent of Eden and Number One on Hell’s list of least popular people. He would just know Anthony J. Crowley, consultant. Whom he consulted with, and about what, was always vague, but he’d learned over the years that no one questioned that sort of thing, and so it was the perfect career for his human persona.

He stepped back and admired himself in the mirror. Tarty black trousers, snakeskin boots, a short jacket so his arse was visible, and a black t-shirt he’d snagged from the women’s section in order to attain the deep v-shaped neckline. Just a hint of chest hair, nothing too gauche. He gave himself a jaunty grin, slipped on his glasses, and headed out.

It was never hard to find parking in Soho if you were both committed and reckless, and Crowley was both. He slid the Bentley into a spot just across the street from Bar Termini, ignoring the no parking sign as he got out of the car and ambled over. It was a bit before three, and he wanted to find an optimal seat.

He pushed open the door and promptly froze.

Aziraphale was sitting at a table. He had a newspaper and was reading it with his cute little glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He was also—Crowley’s brain nearly shorted out at the sight—wearing a soft, cream-colored jumper that made him look like a literature professor instead of a Victorian anachronism. 

This was terrible.

Crowley couldn’t meet a bloke for sex if Aziraphale was here. It—he wouldn’t be able to—it didn’t actually bear thinking about. Too mortifying, made his mouth itch. 

He was frozen in the doorway, frantically trying to think of a way out of this situation short of simply turning into a snake and slithering away, when the angel looked up. Something like panic flickered across his face before it broke into a wide smile.

“Crowley! I didn’t expect to see you here!” He waved Crowley over. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Crowley sat down, giving the place a surreptitious once-over to see whether any of the other people in the place could be his human. “Yeah, likewise,” he told Aziraphale, eyeing the jumper. “Nice outfit.”

To his astonishment, Aziraphale blushed. “Thank you. What brings you here?”

“Me?” Crowley made some vague noises about fancying an espresso and being in the area. “What about you?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, I was set to meet someone, if you must know.”

“Oh yeah?” Crowley rested his chin in his hand.

“Yes.” Aziraphale glanced around the coffee shop. “A book dealer.” 

“Cozy spot for a meeting,” Crowley mused, thinking that was exactly why his man had picked it. He fought the urge to check his phone.

“Quite.” Aziraphale folded the paper and set it down. Then he straightened it with a finger. Moments went by in silence.

“Am I keeping you?” Crowley asked. 

“Oh! No, not at all.” Aziraphale gave him a warm smile then. “I’m always happy to see you, you know.”

Crowley didn’t know, but Aziraphale sounded so sincere he almost believed it. He cast a glance at the door, torn between hoping his man showed up and praying he didn’t. “So what are you after this time, then?” he asked, changing the subject. “Some new rare edition? Fine press? A William Morris original?”

“I never liked him,” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Well, he was a prick. Had some good points about art, though,” Crowley said fairly.

“He was horribly pretentious,” said Aziraphale, as though he didn’t own every single book the wanker had put out. 

“So many of them are,” Crowley mused. “I’m getting a coffee. Want anything?” It was strange enough that Aziraphale didn’t have a plate in front of him already.

“Oh, yes—one of those delightful little pastries?” Aziraphale gave him a winning look. “And an espresso for me too, thank you.”

Crowley went to the counter, pulling out his phone and opening Grindr as subtly as he could. ‘So sorry,’ he wrote hastily. ‘Something’s come up and I’ve got to reschedule. I still want to meet you though. Are you free Thursday?’

The line moved ahead, and Crowley ordered the espressos and Aziraphale’s stupid pastry. When he’d paid, he looked at his phone again.

‘It’s quite alright,’ the man said. ‘Thursday suits me perfectly well. Do you like sushi?’

Crowley did. Sex plan salvaged, he sauntered back to the table where Aziraphale was waiting. “Here you are, angel.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale beamed at him, seeming more relaxed than before. “The book dealer seems to have canceled, I’m afraid. How do you feel about dinner later, since we’re both here?”

“Yeah, alright,” said Crowley, “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, it’s been ages since we’ve had Ethiopian, and there’s a new restaurant that’s just opened,” said Aziraphale excitedly. “What do you think?”

“Anything you like, angel,” said Crowley, and meant it.

They went out for Ethiopian, and Crowley sipped his coffee while Aziraphale carefully tore off pieces of injera bread and pinched little tidbits of fragrantly spiced meats and vegetables inside them. He moaned after the first bite, closing his eyes in pure bliss, and for the first time Crowley let himself wonder if Aziraphale ever let himself try the _other_ sort of earthly delights. If the angel had ever sighed like that because of hands on his skin, or squirmed with delight under the touch of someone’s tongue. 

It was a disconcerting thought, and not one Crowley was prepared to spend a great deal of time on, especially with the angel in question right in front of him.

He decided not to think about sex for a bit. Why bother, when he got to spend time with Aziraphale? He smiled, watching the angel dither over whether he wanted creamed spinach or beef tips. “You know it’ll get cold waiting for you to make up your mind, angel.”

Aziraphale raised his eyes, giving Crowley one of those devastating looks through his lashes. “You could just miracle it hot again, though,” he said. “Couldn’t you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes instead of stating the obvious, which was that yes, of course, he’d do anything the blessed angel asked him to. “Try both together,” he suggested.

“Now, Crowley,” tutted Aziraphale, “these things need to be savored.” He ultimately chose the beef, taking a bit between delicate fingers and wiggling with delight as he popped the whole thing into his mouth. “Oh, that’s scrumptious,” he said when he’d finished. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, go on.” Crowley allowed Aziraphale to pick up some choice beef tips with injera and hold it out to him. He took it from the angel, overcome with fondness when their fingertips touched.

His recent foray into sex might have had something to do with it, but the touch felt electric, sizzling through his veins and nearly making him drop the morsel Aziraphale had painstakingly selected for him.

“Make sure you chew this time,” Aziraphale chided him. “I know how you like to swallow your food whole when you’re about to shed.”

That distracted Crowley from thoughts of sex. “You remembered?” he asked stupidly, holding the food halfway to his mouth.

“Of course.” Aziraphale looked offended. “I marked it on my calendar.”

Crowley was touched. “Oh,” he said stupidly, and ate the bite of food so he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

“Is there anything you’d like from me while it’s going on?” Aziraphale asked gingerly. “I can pick up your post, if you’d like. Maybe bring over some lunch...”

“Post, yeah, that’d be great.” Crowley took a hasty sip of coffee. “I can pick it up when it’s over. Thanks, angel. Appreciate it.”

Aziraphale frowned at him, but only said, “yes, of course. No trouble.” He ate another thoughtful bite, but didn’t sigh or moan or wiggle this time. 

Crowley found himself disappointed. The best part about feeding Aziraphale was watching him enjoy his food. “It didn’t really get cold already, did it?”

“Hm? No, dear boy, not at all.” Aziraphale took another bite.

Crowley didn’t know what he’d done, and therefore was at a loss to fix it. Roughly twice a year, he got itchy and tight, and had to revert to his snake form to shed his skin. When that happened, he leaned into it. After all, it was only a few days, and the neighbors never minded the lack of vermin that came with living close to him. Aziraphale had learned the truth of it back in 1349, when several ships from Italy docked without incident in the Thames, completely rat-free, and kept the Black Plague out of England for two more years. He’d gotten a commendation for it, and had abruptly gone to Crowley to demand an explanation. Crowley’d had to confess over a bottle of exquisite Venetian white that yes, he’d known about the outbreaks and decided to sail cheaply back to England during his shed. Free meals and lodging were hard to pass up, and there was no one to disturb him down in the hold. And after all, it wasn’t as though plague rats could hurt Crowley, could they?

Aziraphale had kept loose track of Crowley’s sheds ever since, but Crowley had thought there was an understanding that this was something Crowley did alone. The thought of having someone there while he was blind and vulnerable made the inside of his mouth itch. Didn’t matter that Aziraphale would never hurt him; there were some things you learned in Hell that you couldn’t just unlearn.

“I appreciate the lunch offer,” Crowley said lamely into the silence.

Aziraphale graced him with a small smile. “Of course,” he said. “I never meant to impose, you know.”

“You’re not,” Crowley told him quietly. 

Aziraphale lowered his piece of injera and blinked at Crowley, something fragile in his expression. It was the eyes, Crowley noticed. A tightness around them, as though the angel anticipated a rejection—

“After,” Crowley promised him impulsively. “Once I’m fit company again. We can...have a picnic or something.”

“Or dine at the Ritz,” said Aziraphale softly.

Crowley paused. There were things they didn’t talk about, him and Aziraphale, and that conversation was one of them. He could feel his pulse kick up just at the memory of that night; the dark closeness of the car, the dance of the pink lights across Aziraphale’s face and the smell of his cologne, and the tension so thick and heavy between them. He’d wanted to reach out and touch Aziraphale then, cup his soft cheeks between his hands and stroke his thumbs across those pink lips and promise him anything he wanted, anything at all.

And here they were again, fifty years later, with so much of the same old shit unspoken between them. Suddenly Crowley felt like an utter tit trying to shag humans from the internet. Aziraphale was everything. Always had been. “Anything you like,” he promised again, and his voice was as soft as Aziraphale’s.

There was that smile he lived for, the one that creased the angel’s whole face. It lit him up inside and made him lovelier than ever. “I’d like that very much,” said Aziraphale, a touch breathlessly. He glanced down, and then, aiming straight for the heart, raised his eyes again until they met Crowley’s.

Crowley let his own lips quirk in a little smile. He wasn’t terribly demonstrative by nature, but oh, he adored this angel. “I’ll call you when it starts,” he told Aziraphale. “And then after. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

“It never is.” Aziraphale beamed at him, warm as sunlight. “I—if you’re terribly hungry, I can have nibbles at the bookshop. I know you have—preferences, just after.”

Crowley sat back, stunned. Aziraphale had never offered _that_ before. “I wouldn’t subject you to that, angel,” he said. “It’d put you off your own lunch.”

“Nonsense,” sniffed Aziraphale. “The Reign of Terror couldn’t put me off my lunch. I don’t think I’m so delicate that a few mice would bother me at all.”

“I—thank you,” Crowley said, genuinely touched. There was no way he was going to accept such  
an offer, but it was sweet of Aziraphale.

With another blinding smile, Aziraphale went back to his food.

And Crowley went back to his telly, later that night after he’d dropped Aziraphale off at the bookshop. Golden Girls this time, because he’d yet to find another sitcom he actually liked. Crowley might enjoy novelty, but he also appreciated the tried and true. It all depended on his mood and where the novelty was located. The matcha ice cream, for example, was the perfect novelty as a counterpoint to Rose and Dorothy’s comforting banter.

“Not a word,” he said to the dead rat. 

It stared back judgmentally.

When Crowley made his way back to the sofa with his ice cream, he noticed a notification from Grindr on his phone. For a moment he considered ignoring it, the strange intimacy of the dinner with Aziraphale still fresh in his mind, but he knew it would bother him if he didn’t at least look. So he picked the phone up, and there was a message from the anonymous human: ‘It occurs to me that we never decided on where or when to meet for sushi. I propose an early dinner—perhaps about five, and then if all goes well I can gorge myself on your cock for pudding.’

Crowley gaped at the phone, setting his ice cream down and taking a moment to think this over. On the one hand, this was doomed to be a short-term affair, fleeting and mostly empty. On the other, his prick was already half-hard in his jeans.

‘You seem to have it all planned out already,’ he sent back, smirking a bit.

‘Not at all. I’m extremely interested in hearing your suggestions. I suppose I could eat your arse instead, if we’re both feeling decadent.’

‘Naughty,’ Crowley typed, grinning. ‘I should have guessed based on your pic.’

‘Oh, do you like it? I’ve a soft spot for erotica from the nineteenth century.’

‘All those prim little Victorians,’ Crowley wrote back. ‘So repressed and filthy.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve been rather repressed myself until recently. And I’m discovering rather a wealth of fantasies that come with freedom.’

‘I know exactly what that’s like,’ said Crowley. ‘So you like that then? Eating arse? I’ve never done it.’

‘If the axiom is to eat or be eaten, my response is why not both? I love driving beautiful men out of their minds with pleasure, but I’m also quite willing to let them do the same to me.’

Crowley squirmed a bit. There he was again, calling him beautiful. Felt strange to hear; Crowley knew he looked good to humans, but he’d never paid attention to his looks when he’d been an angel, and after...well, truthfully he’d fallen into a bit of melancholy over what he no longer had. He couldn’t stand his eyes, or the snake marking that passed for a face tattoo, and the less said about his wings the better, although he did keep them better groomed than Aziraphale. 

It occurred to him that he should respond. ‘I think I’d like making you feel good,’ he wrote back, because it was true. He did like the idea of pleasing someone so well that they fell back among the pillows, sated and soft, and perhaps petted his hair and told him he was good.

And that thought had him all the way hard, so he added, ‘you should tell me how.’

‘Well, stop me if I suggest something you don’t like,’ came the immediate response, ‘but it’s been simply ages since I’ve had a deep, thorough fucking.’

Crowley sucked in a breath. Somehow the thought of that—of fucking a man as hard as he could, being told just how to move, of having to restrain himself and be good— ‘Yes. I want to. Any way you like it, just tell me.’

‘You certainly do like being ordered about, don’t you? It’s very charming. I think I’d like to ride you. I think you’d like it too, because I could order you to raise your hands up over your head and hang onto my headboard while I used your cock for my pleasure.’

Crowley might have squeaked. No one could prove it.

‘And,’ the man continued, apparently intent on burning Crowley up from the inside out, ‘I could touch you that way. Stroke and pinch your pretty nipples until they’re very red and sore, and you wouldn’t stop me, would you?’

Crowley swallowed loudly. ‘No,’ he wrote back, feeling small and hot and exposed, like a raw nerve. Being honest like this went against every instinct he’d ever learned from Hell, but the sizzle of lust that went through him at the thought of giving up control to someone else kept him from retreating like he normally would. ‘I’d want you to keep going.’

‘I hoped you would say that. I imagine you would want very badly to be good for me, so you would hold still and keep your hands where I put them even if I rode you hard and fast until you felt like you had to move or you’d die.’

“Oh lord,” Crowley breathed, and palmed his cock through his jeans. The press of his hand was enough to make his hips buck before he remembered that no, he was meant to hold still. Fuck. This was really doing it for him. ‘It would be so hard. I’d want to thrust up so badly,’ he sent.

‘Absolutely not,’ came the reply, making Crowley whimper out loud. ‘You’re meant to be my pretty little toy, and that means you only move when I tell you.’

‘I’m so hard,’ he confessed in a rush. ‘Can I touch myself?’

‘Show me first,’ the man wrote. ‘Let me see what I do to you.’

Crowley let out a despairing moan before he got his cock out of his trousers. He lined up his phone and snapped the photo, sending it before he could overthink things.

The man replied moments later. ‘You really do have the most beautiful cock. Such a deep red, too. You must be very excited by all this.’

Crowley whined. ‘I am,’ he wrote back. ‘I want you to have me. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Fucking use me.’

‘Touch yourself, you lovely thing. I can’t wait to meet you in person and see you do this for me. I want to hear all the pretty noises you make. Maybe I’d even let you get very very close to coming before I ordered you to stop. I think I’d like to see you flushed and desperate.’

Crowley didn’t bother replying; as soon as he read the first words of the message he wrapped a hand around himself and pumped furiously. He kept his eyes shut tightly, better to picture the scenario in his head. There was a tightness building behind his balls, drawing him closer and closer. Desperate, he pushed his shirt up and pinched his nipple, twisting it roughly and crying out at the strange mix of pleasure and pain that resulted. He did it again, fucking his fist with abandon, and let out a pitiful, needing whine when he came. 

He caught his breath, opening his eyes once it was safe, and stared at the ceiling of his flat. The Golden Girls was still on the telly. His ice cream was melting. And he felt the most glorious sense of wellbeing. Crowley stretched, ignoring the mess (it felt a little decadent, and a lot naughty), and wiggled his toes. This was as good as that first meal post-shed, where his entire body was relaxed and sated. If he’d known orgasms could be that nice, he’d have started having them ages ago.

He did miracle the come off his hand and reach for his phone. ‘I came so bloody hard thinking about that,’ he told the man. ‘I’m a mess.’

A few minutes later, the reply came: ‘So did I. Thursday seems so terribly far away, doesn’t it?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Crowley typed before he could think. ‘Give me a time. I want you.’

‘Are you certain? You were the one who suggested Thursday,’ the man replied.

‘I know, but I want you to put me on my knees. Make me crawl. Tell me I’m good.’ If it was this good just chatting over Grindr, it would be so much better in person. ‘Will you pull my hair?’

‘Needy thing. I would love to. Disrepute in Soho, eight o’clock.’

‘Yes,’ Crowley wrote back. He knew of the place, though he’d never been. Swanky, open late. He’d been meaning to take Aziraphale.

Well, he’d just have to keep the place as one of his own haunts now. His skin tingled pleasantly, the start of his pre-shed itch subsumed by the satisfaction of landing his prey. And of course the good old-fashioned endorphin rush of a wank. He cleaned the rest of the mess up, froze his ice cream again with a thought, and restarted the episode of Golden Girls, humming happily under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Disrepute had a gleaming chrome bar and midcentury ambiance that Crowley liked, although he had some fond memories of this same spot when it had been The Pinstripe Club—back when the sixties had been current and not merely nostalgia. He glanced to the left of the bar toward the alcove with the curved ceiling and decided against it; too close to other tables to discuss the sort of things he wanted to talk about. Instead he chose one of the tiny tables for two, with their plush chairs in silver velvet, thinking that he’d look very cool and sexy with a pale backdrop. And this way they could lean close and whisper to each other, with no one around them the wiser. He picked up a drink menu, keeping one eye on the door.

This time he’d been early. He’d even sent a message earlier, telling the man to look for him. No mix-ups, no mistakes. Crowley was going to get laid tonight, come Hell or high water. Although he’d prefer neither. A server came past and he ordered a ridiculous sounding cocktail with something floral in it. Aziraphale might stick to his single malt Scotch and fine wine, but Crowley loved pretentious cocktails with suggestive names and overdone garnishes. They amused him, even if they weren’t as effortlessly cool as he’d like to appear.

When the drink came, he started a tab and took a slow sip, enjoying the layers of flavor that mingled on the palate. The closer he got to his shed, the less food interested him, but he’d happily drink his favorites until his eyecaps fell off. There had been many a pleasant shed spent in his bathtub with some nice champagne poured into a bowl for hands-free access.

He checked his phone, reading back over their filthy exchanges with a squirm of anticipation. Oh, he wanted to meet this one.

Then the door opened, and in stepped Aziraphale.

Crowley’s mouth fell open. For several reasons, not least of which was shock and irritation that the angel kept popping up to cockblock him—but mostly because Aziraphale was wearing crisp trousers with a white shirt. No jacket, no tie, with a _button open at the throat._ Crowley had the mad urge to go over and cover him up. What was he thinking, coming out dressed like that? It hardly even looked like him.

While he watched, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, Aziraphale made his way to the bar and ordered a drink. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket like a—well, like a normal human would, and slid his card to the bartender. Starting a tab. 

What the Heaven was going on here?

And then— _then!_ —Aziraphale put his wallet back and began to _roll up his sleeves._ All the way to the elbow, showing off pale forearms faintly dusted with white-blonde hair. Right at the bar! Who was this angel, and what had he done with Crowley’s stuffy, bowtie-wearing Aziraphale? There was no tartan in sight. 

Good lord, the soft golden light suited Aziraphale, making his hair glow like a halo as he stood next to the bar with a glass of Scotch in his hand wearing nothing but shirtsleeves. It was very nearly obscene, especially when the angel raised the glass to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment to savor whatever he was drinking.

There had been several times throughout their lives when Crowley had been rather fatally struck by Aziraphale’s beauty. Rome, for example, or that brief period in Tuscany, or the French Revolution, which had inspired more than a few abysmal poems that Crowley had burned immediately after writing. It never stopped surprising him, how lovely Aziraphale could be. But this was possibly the worst timing one of these moments could have chosen. 

As he watched, Aziraphale coolly scanned the bar, and then—Crowley was too late to dive under the table—their eyes met. Aziraphale’s face flashed through several emotions in the space of a heartbeat, ranging from the initial alarm to horror to deep irritation. Then, with a disgruntled pout, he strode over.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he hissed at Crowley, giving him a disapproving once-over and pursing his lips.

“Me?” Crowley bleated, defensive. “What about you? You’ve got your sleeves rolled up!”

Aziraphale went pink. It was unfairly distracting. “Aren’t you always after me about updating my style? I simply took your advice, dear boy.”

“You haven’t got a tie!” Crowley gestured madly. “And you’ve left a button undone! That isn’t like you, angel.”

Aziraphale’s free hand flew to his throat, as though suddenly self-conscious, and Crowley wanted to kick himself. “I...oh, it doesn’t suit me at all, does it?”

Shit. Crowley hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. “I—look,” he said, gesturing at the seat next to him, “it’s not bad, just different. I’ll get used to it, angel, don’t feel like you’ve got to change on my account.”

“I didn’t,” huffed Aziraphale. He’d always been a terrible liar.

Crowley cast a rather desperate look around the bar, wondering if another blonde had slipped in while he was faffing about with Aziraphale over his sartorial choices. Didn’t see anyone. Fuck. “Honestly though, what are you doing here?”

“What are _you?_ ” Aziraphale shot back bitchily, although he did sit across from Crowley.

“Tempting,” Crowley lied smoothly. “Old habits die hard, you know.”

Aziraphale raised a still bitchy eyebrow, but merely took a sip of his Scotch. “Well, that explains why you’re dressed like that,” he said, wiggling a bit to get comfortable in his chair, which Crowley noticed was rather more cushy than it had been before the angel sat down.

“Like what?” Crowley knew exactly what he was dressed like, but he made a show of looking down at himself anyway.

Aziraphale merely sniffed and elected not to elaborate. “So which poor souls are you tempting?” he asked, looking around the bar. “The businessman contemplating adultery or the posh university student who wants to fuck his friend’s mother?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open again. “Aziraphale!”

“What?” Those blue eyes were all innocence. “You seem to forget I have a fair bit of experience tempting as well. So which is it?”

It had been neither of them, but now Crowley was committed. “The uni student,” he said. “Break up both a marriage and a friendship. More collateral, right?”

Aziraphale regarded the lad in question, taking in his tailored navy jacket and obnoxiously polished loafers. “He likes it because it’s forbidden,” he said. “Why do you think they crave taboos so much?”

“Everyone wants what they can’t have,” said Crowley quietly, sipping his drink. “Goes all the way back to Eve and the apple.”

Aziraphale glanced at him. “So things are more attractive when they’re not allowed,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Crowley hummed, wondering where this was going. “You know how it is.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale in a strange voice, “I do know how it is.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, and anyway his man hadn’t come in. Shitting shit. He took a large swallow of his drink. “Won’t take more than a nudge to get him to make a pass,” he said to cover for it.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “He already wants her very badly.”

Crowley looked at the young man again; he was staring at his phone. “Think she wants him back?”

“A bored housewife whose husband likely has a mistress of his own?” Aziraphale scoffed. “They’ve made films about this, it’s so common.”

“Just the one film, angel,” Crowley reminded him.

Aziraphale gave him a sideways smirk over his glass. “Rather more than that, I think.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open again. Aziraphale? Making jokes about porn? He shook his head in amazement. 

“Shall we see what happens?” asked Aziraphale, and pushed to his feet. He went from visible to invisible in the blink of an eye, winding through the crowd of humans while Crowley watched in shock. When he reached the boy, he slipped a hand under his chin and leaned close to whisper in his ear. The boy raised his head without realizing why, eyes going glassy and dark before Aziraphale pulled away. Instantly he was texting, lust and tension rolling off him like a particularly noxious perfume. 

Crowley gaped as Aziraphale made his way back to the table. 

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, “how was that? I’d like to think I haven’t lost my touch.”

Crowley dug deep for something appropriate to say, but all he managed was a garbled sort of honk. At least the table hid his erection. The whole point of the Arrangement had been to cut down on redundant work; Crowley had never actually _seen_ Aziraphale tempt anyone before.

The smug smile on Aziraphale’s face fell away, replaced by a puzzled little frown. “Crowley? Is everything alright?”

“Yep,” Crowley croaked. “Fine. Great. Well done, gold star.”

Aziraphale frowned harder. “My dear, have I upset you somehow? You seem out of sorts.”

“Me?” Crowley stared at him. “You’re the one who’s going around tempting uni students dressed like that!”

“Oh, for—are you _that_ put off by my clothes? I can change if you hate it so much.” Aziraphale actually looked upset. “I thought you might like me to get with the times a bit, but you seem content to stay perfectly still!” 

Crowley reared back, startled by the frustration in Aziraphale’s voice. “What?”

“And if that’s what you want, then that’s completely fine, but you needn’t be so distraught by the idea that I might want something different!” Aziraphale set down his glass and pushed to his feet. 

“Aziraphale, wha—?”

“Good night, Crowley,” Aziraphale told him severely.

“Haven’t you got a tab open?” wasn’t what Crowley wanted to say, but it was what came out of his mouth.

Aziraphale gave him a quelling look and flounced out of the bar without a backward glance.

“What the actual fuck?” Crowley asked the air, staring at the door.

Rattled, he pulled out his phone and checked his messages. Nothing. ‘Where are you?’ he sent. ‘I’ve got a table.’ He couldn’t quite bring himself to think about the snit Aziraphale had gotten himself into, or the strange sexy clothes or the blatant temptation. It was bizarre, and his anonymous sex human would take his mind off it.

Several minutes went by before a reply came through. ‘You have a table?’

‘Yeah,’ Crowley typed. ‘Just to the left of the bar.’

There was another long, agonizing pause before the message came: ‘I’m so sorry, I was on my way, but—oh, I suppose I have to tell you. I’m horribly in love with someone.’

Crowley sat back, stunned.

‘I’d have told you earlier, only this seemed so harmless. The thing is, he’s got no interest in sex whatsoever. I adore him, but I’m accepting that this isn’t going to be part of our life together. I had thought that there might be a possibility, but I was wrong. I will understand if you don’t wish to see me now.’

That was...that was a lot. Crowley picked up his drink, which was unfortunately mostly ice by now, and took a sip anyway. He needed a moment to take this all in. 

Finally, he sent back, ‘funny, I’m in about the same position. We’ll flirt, but sex isn’t on the table.’

‘What are the odds?’ came the response. ‘Every time I see him he looks absolutely scrumptious but he’s simply not interested. Your photo rather reminded me of him. I hope that isn’t terribly insensitive to say. I’ve spent many an hour fantasizing about his hips, and when I saw yours, I thought touching you might ease the ache.’

Crowley let out a slow breath. ‘This was always about sex,’ he typed. ‘It’s not insensitive to be honest. I love someone else too. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to fuck me.’

‘I am sorry about tonight,’ the man told him. ‘I ran into him and I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of things.’

‘I understand,’ Crowley wrote back. ‘Mine always does my head in too.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ was the reply to that. ‘Here’s to us and our pitiful state.’

‘Third time’s the charm?’ Crowley suggested. ‘Not to sound too desperate but I’d really like to suck your cock at some point.’

‘Likewise. Tomorrow will do nicely. When and where?’

Crowley considered. ‘Is it too much to get a hotel?’ he asked. Skip this dating shit, get straight to the good stuff. 

‘No,’ came the quick reply. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

‘I’ll meet you in the lobby and we can go up together,’ Crowley said, feeling eager now. ‘I’ll be wearing black, you can’t miss me.’

‘I can if you don’t tell me what hotel we’re to meet at,’ the man said, and Crowley could almost feel his smile through the screen.

He quickly pulled up hotels nearby, made a miraculously quick reservation, and typed back, ‘Ham Yard. Look for me in the library at 5.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ the man said, and Crowley went to close his tab.


	4. Chapter 4

He didn’t even bother telling the dead rat to stop judging him. It was a lost cause. He stuffed a friend in next to it and closed the freezer with a disgruntled huff, then went to check his hair one last time. Still short, still artfully styled. Did he look a bit like a slut? Yes, that was the whole point. Today he had on a shirt with a deep scoop neck, thin enough to cling, and a jacket over it to keep him just on the edge of decent for public consumption. It was 4:30, and he was ready to leave. 

He checked in at the hotel, glossing over the more irritating aspects of the process, and made his way through the brightly lit, cream-colored lobby to the library, an eclectic room off the way. Faintly, he could hear the distant bustle of the restaurant, but he was the only one in here. He took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace and looked around at the floor-to-ceiling books. The place reminded him a bit of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Too bright and too modern, but nevertheless comfortable and full of books. It felt familiar, which settled Crowley’s nerves. His shed was getting close, and he’d noticed himself getting jittery this morning. Hence the second rat.

Crowley pulled out his phone and checked his messages. Just one, from about ten minutes ago, saying the man was on his way. Lord, Crowley hoped nothing went wrong this time. He had lube and three condoms in his jacket pocket, and he had to fight the urge to bounce his leg as he waited.

His phone made a noise at him, and he nearly dropped it in his eagerness to pull up the app. His man had arrived. 

Crowley instantly panicked over what to do. He only had moments to decide. He could stay in the chair, or lean against the fireplace. He could miracle up some drinks by the honesty bar, and hand one over very smoothly when the man came in. Or he could—

He could gape very stupidly as Aziraphale stepped into the room and immediately narrowed his eyes.

“I thought so,” said the angel darkly. 

“Wha—?” was the best Crowley could manage, blinking at the sight of Aziraphale, once again in his fussy tartan bowtie and worn waistcoat. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No,” said Aziraphale, “I suppose I’m not. Because you thought you were meeting some human from the internet.”

“I—yeah.” Crowley felt his face heating up. “You mean you knew—?” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up and he reached into his pocket to pull out a white mobile phone. Crowley hadn’t even known he owned one, much less knew how to operate it.

Oh sweet God above, that explained everything. He’d kept bumping into Aziraphale in his rendezvous spots because he’d been meant to rendezvous _with Aziraphale._

Crowley felt ill. “Oh shit,” he moaned, mortification rolling over him in a wave. He’d sent the angel photos of his cock. “Oh lord, I’m sorry, angel. I—”

“Sorry for what?” Aziraphale’s voice was cold and clipped. “I’m curious.”

Crowley goggled at him. He knew that tone. That was a bad tone. “I mean—I—I sent you photos and—”

Aziraphale’s face darkened further, and the temperature in the room dipped several degrees.

Desperate, Crowley scrambled to figure out what it was that had Aziraphale so pissed off at him. “It’s not—it doesn’t _mean_ anything to me, angel. I can live without it if you don’t want me to—”

“What the _hell,_ ” Aziraphale asked coldly, “makes you think I don’t want you?”

Crowley stopped short. “Er,” he said.

“I have been trying,” Aziraphale continued icily, “without any success, to take my foot off the brakes, as it were. There’s no reason not to, now. And you don’t—” His lip wobbled and he looked away. “I had thought,” he said after a moment, taking a deep breath, “ it was merely that you weren’t interested in physical affection. And that would have been fine, but now I realize you do want to have sex. Just not with me!”

Crowley was doing a great deal of gawping like an idiot lately, but he’d be damned twice if he could manage to close his mouth now. “Aziraphale,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t know it was you until last night,” said Aziraphale miserably. “I waited for months, you know, hoping you would do something. That things would change between us. But when they didn’t, I—I wanted to feel desirable again. So I began communicating with humans on this application—”

“It’s just app,” said Crowley stupidly.

Aziraphale looked as though he might cry. “How am I supposed to feel about this?” he cried. 

“Wait, hang on!” Crowley pushed to his feet. “What do you mean, you’ve been trying to move us forward? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been flirting with you for months, you idiot!” Aziraphale snapped. “I’ve wanted you for ages, and I thought you wanted me too, but you _balk_ every time I so much as hint at anything suggestive.”

“Because that’s not what you do!” Crowley shouted. “You don’t say yes, angel, you never have! How was I supposed to know you’d suddenly changed the script?”

“That’s not fair,” said Aziraphale wretchedly. “I never denied you because I wanted to.”

“Well, how was I to know that, hm? I stopped going so fast _at your request._ Didn’t want to subject you to unwanted _fraternizing._ ” Crowley needed to stop talking; he was only making things worse.

Aziraphale actually flinched. “Have I really been so awful?” he asked softly.

Crowley clenched his jaw. “It eats at you, being pushed away,” he said after a moment. “Being told ‘this close, but no closer.’”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I didn’t know,” he whispered miserably.

Crowley looked away. He couldn’t stand to see Aziraphale sad. It ripped at him like red hot pincers. “Well, now you know how it feels. Try to imagine it for a thousand years.” That had been the period where he’d felt it most keenly. Once the Arrangement had started and he’d had an excuse to see Aziraphale regularly, he’d hoped that more would change between them, but it never had.

“So why won’t you let me close the distance?” Aziraphale asked pitifully. “I want to hold you, Crowley. I want to love you in all the ways any two beings can love one another.”

Crowley ground his teeth. “I don’t know how to do that,” he grunted, scowling at a little figurine of the queen that lived under a glass jar. “This close, but no closer. That’s what I’m used to. Not sure how to handle anything else.”

“You can learn!” Aziraphale cried. “We both can. Crowley, take me down off this pedestal so we can be _happy._ ”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Crowley retorted. “You built the blessed thing.”

Aziraphale drew a quick, sharp breath. “Yes, I suppose I did,” he said quietly. “But please don’t make me wait another thousand years before you’ll let me come down to you.”

“I could never make you do anything,” Crowley told him. It sounded more raw than he’d intended.

Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he agreed. “You want to be made to do things.”

“No,” snapped Crowley. “No, don’t you bring that up here. I never meant to tell you any of that.”

“But I meant every word I said,” Aziraphale said, pinning him with those bright blue eyes.

Crowley wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he made a few noises that he hoped would convey how he felt on the matter.

It seemed to work. Aziraphale took a step closer. “Don’t you believe I could do it, Crowley? Everything you confessed to wanting? I can. I will. There’s nothing you could say that would shock or disgust me.”

“It’s not like flipping a switch, is it?” Crowley demanded. “Asking me to be ready just because you are, as if that’s fair. It’s always on your timeline, isn’t it? God forbid _you_ have to wait for _me!_ ”

Aziraphale paused. “Is that what you want me to do?”

What Crowley wanted was to get very drunk and then maybe binge some Queer Eye while he let himself absorb the notion of Aziraphale as a sexual being. “Oh lord,” he groaned out loud, “I’ve seen your cock.”

Aziraphale didn’t even look embarrassed. “Yes.”

“Angels don’t have sex,” Crowley muttered pitifully.

“I do lots of things other angels don’t,” said Aziraphale. “I’d like to do them with you.”

Crowley covered his face. “I can’t handle this. This is ridiculous.”

“Me liking sex is ridiculous?” Aziraphale asked, stung.

“Oh, fuck off!” snarled Crowley. “You’re over here complaining about a few months when I went centuries convincing myself you didn’t even feel lust. Turns out that you did. Hurts, doesn’t it, knowing the one you love is willing to fuck anyone but you!”

“So you’re going to punish me for keeping my distance all those years?” Aziraphale demanded.

“It’s not like you wouldn’t deserve it, you bloody tease!” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “Tease?” 

“Yes, tease!” snapped Crowley. “That damsel act at the Bastille, or needing a rescue from the Nazis, or the way you give me those eyes when you want something! You’re a bloody tease and you’ve never been anything but!”

Aziraphale drew himself up with dignity. “That is not true!” he snapped. 

“Oh, isn’t it!” Crowley pointed at him. “‘I can’t possibly fix this coat myself, Crowley, I’d always know the stain was there underneath!’ You’ve been playing with me for ages to get me to do what you wanted, don’t you dare deny it!”

“Didn’t you enjoy it?” Aziraphale asked, stunning Crowley into total silence.

“What?” he finally managed to ask.

“You liked doing the things I asked you to.” Aziraphale had a look in his eye that spelled trouble. “You liked pleasing me. You still do. You want to be _good._ ”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest.

“What if I asked you to come here and kiss me?” Aziraphale said, raising his chin. “Would you do that? For me?”

“I—” Words failed him, so Crowley fell back on some incoherent noises. 

Aziraphale was unmoved. “Please, Crowley?” he asked, devastating Crowley with nothing but a few words. “I want so badly to kiss you. Let me taste your sweet mouth, my dear. I’ll never tease you again.”

Crowley was frozen, feet heavy on the floor. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.

But Aziraphale took a step forward. “Won’t you kiss me, Crowley? Won’t you do as I ask?” He took another step, and then another, crossing the room to where Crowley was rooted to the spot. “Would you like me to beg?” he asked once he was standing close enough to touch.

“Don’t beg,” Crowley whispered. He could smell Aziraphale from here, and he opened his mouth just a bit to get the scent more fully. 

“It’s stronger on my neck,” Aziraphale told him. He pointed just under his ear. “Right here. I imagine it would be quite potent if you were to put your mouth there. Do you want to?”

Crowley shivered, instinct and desire warring against each other. He wanted to fall on Aziraphale like a starving human, rough and biting, all animal passion. And at the same time, he wanted to flee back to his flat and never speak to the angel again. 

Aziraphale rubbed his fingers across the spot on his neck. “I think about it sometimes,” he confessed. “How your mouth would feel on my skin, or your hands. I adore your hands, you know. Such long, elegant fingers. The night of the Blitz, when you gave me the lift home, I remember watching your fingers wrap around the steering wheel of your car and flushing hot all over. I wanted you so, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes fixed on that tender spot on Aziraphale’s neck. It looked so soft, and warm, and he wondered if Aziraphale would make sounds when someone licked it. He could be the one to do that. He had permission. Aziraphale was practically begging him to. “I wanted you too,” he whispered.

Aziraphale tilted his head, puzzled for a moment. Then his expression went firm with resolve. “This close, but no closer,” he repeated softly. “May I come a bit closer, my dear? Will you let me do that?”

Crowley swallowed. Somehow this was sexier than any amount of skin Aziraphale could have shown last night. He loved Aziraphale just like this, fussy outdated clothes and blinding willpower. A warrior under a veneer of softness. Crowley could fall to his feet and worship him when he got like this.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice jerked him back to the situation at hand. “Will you let me come closer?”

He’d never been any good at denying Aziraphale. So he nodded, eyes wide behind his glasses as Aziraphale stepped into his space. The angel smelled so good, a cold, clean scent under his cologne that contrasted with the heat he gave off. Crowley nearly swooned with it.

“You always take such excellent care of me, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “You’re always so good.”

Crowley let out a despairing little noise, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale if he was going to keep talking like this.

“Won’t you let me be good to you too?” Christ, he could feel Aziraphale’s breath on his face, against his lips. He swayed, trembling when warm hands caught him by the arms. “Crowley, my darling. I want to take care of you.”

How was Crowley supposed to deal with this? It was everything he’d wanted wrapped in a hideously mistimed and embarrassing package. “I...”

Aziraphale’s hands held him steady. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “Oh Crowley, please kiss me.”

Crowley couldn’t look at him. If he did, he’d go blind. And if he kissed Aziraphale the odds were good he’d discorporate on the spot before any clothing even came off. It was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous. What sort of demon was tempted by an angel? Really, the whole thing was embarrassing.

“Open your mouth, Crowley,” Aziraphale said after several moments in which Crowley did nothing but quiver in his arms. There was no arguing with that tone.

So Crowley did it, parting his lips and hearing his own harsh breaths echo in his ears, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. He didn’t know what Aziraphale would do. He didn’t think he could stop him no matter what it was.

What it was, ultimately, was the gentle, searing heat of a tongue, just the tip, tracing the curves of Crowley’s lips. Aziraphale was tasting him, sampling him like some sort of exotic nibble, and Crowley’s knees very nearly gave out at the thought. Probably would have, if not for Aziraphale’s firm grip on his upper arms.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed, deep in his chest, as though he’d just tried something delicious. “Yes, Crowley, give me another taste...”

Crowley wasn’t sure what to call the noise he made then, but he collapsed against Aziraphale as though his strings had been cut. The angel caught him, slipping an arm around his waist to keep him steady while Crowley gripped his lapels. It was a testament to how much Aziraphale loved him that he didn’t complain about the rough treatment of his jacket.

“Another taste, Crowley,” he whispered; Crowley turned his face up toward Aziraphale’s, blindly seeking, and whimpered pitifully when Aziraphale licked his upper lip. “There we are, darling. Thank you.”

“We can’t do this here,” Crowley whispered thinly; as dizzying as all this was, they were still in the very open library of a very posh hotel, and that wasn’t where he was supposed to kiss Aziraphale. They were supposed to kiss in the bookshop, where the light was soft and warm and everything smelled of tea and old books and angel wings and Crowley felt safe.

“That’s right. You reserved a room, didn’t you?” Aziraphale reached up to brush a finger across Crowley’s cheek; the touch burned. “Shall we go up?”

“Fuck the room,” Crowley growled. The room was for a random human that Crowley didn’t trust in his flat. The next thing he knew, they were in his study. Aziraphale tensed at the sudden rush of demonic magic, but relaxed again as soon as he recognized their surroundings.

“Oh,” he breathed, “ _Crowley._ ” And he kissed him full on the mouth.

Crowley moaned into the kiss, clumsy and sloppy and still gripping Aziraphale’s coat like a lifeline. He didn’t know what he was doing, it was obvious, and any minute now the angel would pull away, disappointed, and say he’d expected better—

“Shhh, my darling,” Aziraphale whispered against his mouth, “like this.” And he gripped Crowley’s chin the same way he’d done to the boy at the bar last night, holding him still as he kissed him.

It felt like being devoured. It felt like being pulled open, exposed, and completely consumed. Crowley hated it. Nearly as much as he loved it, and the conflict inside him made his head spin. He made another high animal sound against Aziraphale’s mouth, shaking at the touch of that hot, wet tongue and the deliberate certainty with which Aziraphale licked into his mouth. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. 

“Am I the first one to kiss you, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly. 

Crowley shut his eyes tightly. He couldn’t answer that. Made his palms sweat, the idea of admitting that kind of inexperience when Aziraphale clearly knew what he was doing. How many men had Aziraphale fucked that this came so easily to him? Had he unraveled loads of others the way he was unraveling Crowley now? Crowley couldn’t think about it; it was by turns horrifying and arousing.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale sternly, “answer me. Am I the first?”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, heat rushing to his face. It was horrible, just awful, having Aziraphale know this about him.

But Aziraphale merely pressed a dry kiss to his lips. It would be chaste if not for the way he gripped Crowley’s waist with casual possessiveness. “Then we’ll proceed slowly,” he said with a smile. 

Crowley swallowed loudly. “Yeah?” he asked faintly.

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve been very cruel to you, Crowley, quite without meaning to. It’s high time for me to show you some kindness.”

That made Crowley lower his eyes. “‘M a demon,” he mumbled. “I’m not supposed to like kindness.”

“Just like nice is a four-letter word?” asked Aziraphale with a crooked smile. “Perhaps you’re not so different than the humans, my dear. You’re attracted to the forbidden too, aren’t you?”

Crowley gulped and refused to answer.

Aziraphale leaned very close, upturned nose brushing Crowley’s ear. “Take me to bed, Crowley, and I’m going to be very, _very_ nice to you.”

Crowley shivered, letting out a shaky breath. “I won’t be good,” he croaked. “No idea what I’m doing, angel, I don’t want—”

“Then I’ll teach you.” And there was that low, nearly growling voice Aziraphale sometimes got. It came from deep in his chest and it turned Crowley’s belly to fire.

Crowley swallowed again, licking his lips and then going hot all over when he remembered that Aziraphale had licked them too. Fuck, he was easy. “What are you gonna teach me?”

“Anything you like,” Aziraphale promised him in a low voice. “I’ll teach you to please me so well I forget how to speak. I can show you exactly what I like, and you can show me just what you want from me. We have time to learn each other now, Crowley.” He pulled Crowley even closer, so their bodies pressed together.

It was so much. Crowley moaned helplessly and hid his face against Aziraphale’s neck. And oh, that was a mistake. He smelled so good here, like sex and home mingled, and Crowley darted his tongue out to taste without thinking.

Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley froze, heart pounding. And then, slowly, he did it again.

“ _Yes,_ ” Aziraphale sighed, tipping his head back. “Just like that, Crowley. Again, please.”

It wasn’t a request, and that made Crowley’s cock twitch against the front of his jeans. It fucking ached, pressed as it was against the seam. He wanted to take it out and offer it to Aziraphale to use however he liked. He also wanted to run away and hide in the loo, though, so he settled for doing what came easiest—listening to Aziraphale. 

He licked slowly across soft, pale skin, savoring the clean salty taste of it and the way Aziraphale moaned at his touch. He could get addicted to this if he wasn’t careful, come to need it like air, and then where would he be?

“That’s wonderful, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured. “Lick me again, dear, and then bite me— _ah!_ —gently now. _Oh,_ just like that, my darling, you’re already so good at this.”

Crowley moaned, clutching tighter at Aziraphale’s coat as he tried to follow the angel’s instructions. Aziraphale liked it soft, until he liked it hard with a bit of teeth. Vividly, Crowley remembered being told that he got off on the thought of being savored. Like a treat. “You taste good,” he rasped against Aziraphale’s jaw.

Aziraphale shuddered, hands clenching where they gripped Crowley’s body, and he threw his head back with a moan. “I want your mouth all over me,” he gasped. “Oh Crowley, I’ve dreamed about it. You feel so good, darling, please, don’t stop.”

As if Crowley could. Now that he’d had a taste, it was all he wanted. He nosed at Aziraphale’s collar, nipping in his excitement to get at the skin underneath it. It made Aziraphale shiver, and that was the best feeling in the world. Crowley closed his lips around soft skin and sucked, groaning when Aziraphale let out a soft cry.

“ _Fuck,_ ” the angel moaned brokenly. “What you do to me, Crowley. We should go to bed now. I want you in your bed.”

“Okay,” Crowley mumbled stupidly, darting his tongue out for one last taste of Aziraphale’s skin. It seemed too much to break contact, so he caught Aziraphale’s hand as he wrenched himself out of the angel’s arms. “Here, this way.”

They hurried down the hallway, past the plants and the gleaming, sterile kitchen, and both paused in the doorway to Crowley’s bedroom.

“Black sheets,” said Aziraphale inanely. “Yes, of course.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, because he couldn’t think of anything to contribute.

Aziraphale’s lips curved into a positively wicked smile. “Black sheets show stains, you know.”

“They do?” Crowley had never done anything on these sheets that would stain. They knew better than to be dirty, anyway.

“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale sagely. “Especially white stains, I’m afraid.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

“Why don’t you take those off and lie down?” Aziraphale suggested slyly.

“Take them off?” Crowley blinked a few times. Of course, now that he thought about it taking the glasses off was the logical next step. Aziraphale had seen his eyes loads of times, after all. It didn’t have to be a thing.

It was absolutely a thing, and Crowley wasn’t prepared. 

Aziraphale peered at him. “Or you can leave them on for now, if you like,” he offered, but he seemed to shrink a bit, as though the thought of Crowley keeping a barrier between them was painful.

Damn him. Didn’t see Crowley sulking every time Aziraphale threw up a wall, did you? If he’d done that, he’d never have had the chance to enjoy anything with the angel, and now Aziraphale was sad over the first one Crowley tried to establish. As though he wasn’t directly responsible for making Crowley so leery of getting close to him anyway!

That...that was a bad way to look at things. That was a resentment that would kill them if he let it. Crowley closed his eyes and tried to get hold of himself. “You’re going awfully fast, angel,” he managed.

Immediately Aziraphale’s expression changed. He went soft with chagrin, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, Crowley, I got ahead of myself. By all means, keep them on if you like. Will taking anything else off be a problem?”

Maybe, but Crowley wasn’t a coward. “What did you want me to take off?” he asked roughly.

“Your shoes, for starters,” said Aziraphale, giving him a critical once-over. “I suppose I should take mine off as well. The socks too, please. Now that sock garters are out of fashion there’s no call to leave those on in the bedroom.”

The implications of that one made Crowley need to sit down very quickly. Aziraphale had fucked men in sock garters. Aziraphale _liked_ sock garters. He briefly contemplated changing his socks to accommodate this, but decided against it. Then he thought about Aziraphale in sock garters. He remembered those plush thighs and shapely calves from the days when men’s bodies weren’t hidden away by the fashions, and the thought of buckles and straps, and being able to undo them...

“—Crowley?” Aziraphale sounded politely puzzled. “You’re staring into space.”

“Sorry,” Crowley croaked. “Sock garters.”

An indulgent smile stretched across Aziraphale’s face. “We can certainly revisit that topic, my dear. But for now will you take off your shoes and socks?”

Crowley looked up to see that Aziraphale had lost the jacket, and the bowtie, and that his feet were bare. He had adorable toes, the sight of which made Crowley’s guts squirm with affection. Unlike the sight of his bare throat, which filled Crowley with a rather different emotion. He busied himself with miracling away his boots and socks before he could get distracted by the notion of tracing his tongue very softly along that throat.

“And then—if it’s alright,” said Aziraphale haltingly, “would you take your shirt off?”

Crowley paused, pulse kicking up when he remembered the very first message Aziraphale had sent him on Grindr. “You want me to—?”

“Yes, if you please.” Aziraphale casually reached up and undid another button on his shirt, as though he didn’t realize he was destroying Crowley by doing so. “I’d like to finally get a look at your nipples.”

Crowley flushed, ducking his head to avoid showing Aziraphale how mortifyingly sexy it was to hear the angel say ‘nipples.’ “You’ve seen me without a shirt before,” he muttered, trying to deflect.

“Not like this. Not stretched out on your bed for me.” Aziraphale either knew exactly what he was doing to Crowley or he was just very direct. Crowley didn’t know which he preferred.

Crowley felt his shoulders hunch, the instinct to make himself small and less noticeable taking over. “I used filters on that photo,” he said to the floor. “Just...just telling you now.”

“As though I didn’t want to close my lips around your rosy nipples and suck them before I saw that photo,” said Aziraphale, and how could he _talk_ like that without spontaneously combusting? 

“That’s filthy,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale snorted. “Take your shirt off, Crowley. I’ll show you how filthy I can be.”

Good lord. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his shirt over his head before this could continue; the jacket had conveniently relocated to a hook by the door before he’d had to worry about logistics.

“Very good,” Aziraphale cooed at him. “Now lay back, Crowley. Let me look at you.”

Crowley shuddered. This was too much. He’d never be able to do this.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was stern now, just a hair away from disapproval. “Won’t you lay back? Stretch your arms over your head, darling. I want you to.”

Aziraphale wanted him to. That had been good enough for Crowley for centuries, so with a deep, shaking breath, he laid back, arching his back and stretching his arms above his head. It felt wanton, this, sheets against his bare skin and the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze on him. His nipples tightened, as though anticipating attention, and Crowley had to keep his eyes very tightly closed.

“Perfect,” whispered Aziraphale. “Oh, you’re lovelier than I imagined. And I did imagine you, Crowley. I tortured myself with thoughts of you so many times I can’t recall all of them.”

“Angel,” Crowley whispered tightly, hands clenching on nothing.

“The reality of you is so much better, of course, but I’ve had _so many_ fantasies about us. In some you’re quite forceful, but I like the other kind better. The ones where you’re ever so good to me, and you touch me just the way I like until I can barely think. And then, of course, I’d have to return the favor. I could worship at your feet, Crowley, really I could.”

Crowley let out a thin whine at that, hips jerking against nothing. He was so hard, and the angel could see it. That was both horrible and really bloody hot. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Aziraphale mentioned it.

“Will you unbutton your trousers for me?” Aziraphale asked, as though he could read Crowley’s thoughts and wanted to ruin him utterly.

Crowley whined again, torn. He wanted to do what Aziraphale said—needed to hear the angel call him good again, but oh God, the thought of showing Aziraphale his hard, leaking cock made him want to die. He quivered, indecision making him bite his lip until it ached. He couldn’t make Aziraphale ask again. He’d done nothing but make Aziraphale beg to touch him all night. 

And maybe that was part of this. This whole twisted thing they were sharing. Suddenly it was Aziraphale begging for Crowley and Crowley setting the pace. There was a strange sort of thrill to that, to making Aziraphale crawl to him even when it was Crowley who was shaking from sheer terror.

Was this how Aziraphale had felt about him, all those years they’d danced along the edge without tumbling over? The mix of giddiness and terror that Crowley felt now as his hands went to his fly and popped the button—if so, Crowley could almost forgive him for taking so long to give in.

The pressure on his cock eased just a bit, making Crowley sigh with relief. He still couldn’t look at Aziraphale, but he’d done it. His face burned as he waited to hear what Aziraphale would say.

“Thank you,” was all he got, and that made him frown. Where was the filthy commentary? Why wasn’t he making Crowley squirm uncomfortably with casual observations about his cock? He’d talked about it before. Was he being polite?

Crowley picked up his head and frowned harder.

Aziraphale met his eyes and smiled. “Very good, Crowley. Just as I asked.”

“I—yeah.” Crowley scrunched up his face, wondering if he felt relieved or disappointed.

Aziraphale gave him a knowing look, but merely asked, “do you mind if I sit next to you?”

“Er, sure,” Crowley told him, thrown.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale sat beside him, still in his waistcoat, and wiggled to get comfortable. “There. Much more pleasant than standing. Now then.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s begin.”

Crowley stared at him. “Did you just commence sex by saying ‘let’s begin?’” he asked.

“Well, do you have a better way to start?” Aziraphale asked. 

“You’re still dressed!” Crowley bleated.

“Are there rules that say I have to undress all the way?” asked Aziraphale, tossing Crowley a devastating smirk. “I’m not sure you’d survive it if I were to take _all_ my clothes off.”

Crowley’s brain did fizzle a bit at the thought, but he snapped his mouth shut to avoid admitting it.

“That’s what I thought.” Smug was a good look on Aziraphale. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so sexy. “So as I was saying—”

“When?” Crowley demanded.

“Right now, if you’ll shut up a moment.” Aziraphale frowned at him until Crowley sat back with a huff. “Right. I’m going to get on top of you. But don’t worry, I won’t touch you too much.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Crowley muttered.

“Of course not,” said Aziraphale smoothly. “I just want to be able to admire you more closely. Is that alright?”

“You can do what you like,” Crowley said, aiming for cool and nonchalant and trying not to wince as he missed by a mile and landed somewhere near breathless.

Aziraphale smiled broadly. “Thank you, my dear. Just let me take this one last thing off—” He shrugged out of his waistcoat and laid it carefully over a tartan chair that Crowley would rather die than see in his bedroom. “Bit warm, isn’t it?”

It was, but that was because Crowley was about to shed. “If you don’t like it, I can—”

Aziraphale rested a fingertip against his lips. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “Just means I’ll have to—” He used his free hand to undo yet another button on his shirt.

Crowley’s eyes automatically went to the sliver of pale skin exposed by the parting of his shirt, tongue darting out to taste Aziraphale’s finger. He wanted to lick Aziraphale everywhere, slow and steady until the angel was squirming and Crowley could taste nothing but his skin.

“Oh, that’s very good,” said Aziraphale softly, and when Crowley looked up at his face his eyes had gone dark and purposeful. “So good, my dear.” Gently, he slipped his finger between Crowley’s lips.

Crowley moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he gave in and sucked. He felt whorish, hot and shaky with want. He licked around the tip of Aziraphale’s finger, curling his tongue to get at more of it, and the slurping noise was obscene. His hips jerked again, thrusting up at the open air in sheer desperation. The taste was overwhelming; he could come like this, he really could.

“ _Fuck,_ the mouth on you,” Aziraphale whispered, and that made Crowley moan again because angels weren’t supposed to talk like that. But Aziraphale did, and Crowley loved it, even though it made him squirm and blush. “You were made for this, weren’t you, Crowley?”

Crowley opened his eyes and stared up at Aziraphale, unwilling to let go of his finger to reply. Maybe he was made for this, shaped by Her hands specifically to please Aziraphale. Perhaps they’d been designed for each other all along. He’d never know.

“Someday I’m going to enjoy that mouth to its fullest potential,” said Aziraphale, and he pulled his finger away, making Crowley moan at the loss. “But for now, I’ve other plans.”

Crowley was glad Aziraphale had a plan, because he was focusing all his efforts on not dying right here. He held his breath when Aziraphale climbed onto the bed, surprisingly graceful, and crouched over him. Crowley stared up into his face, and when that was too much, lowered his eyes. 

That was a mistake, because that angle allowed him to look down the opening of Aziraphale’s shirt, and the glimpse of the angel’s chest, with its sparse blonde hairs and pink nipples, made his cock throb. 

“Do you still want the glasses on?” Aziraphale asked softly; when Crowley looked up again, Aziraphale was smirking. 

Crowley swallowed. “Can I?” he whispered.

“If that’s what you need.” Aziraphale bent to kiss him again, merciful and cruel at the same time. He parted Crowley’s lips with his clever tongue and claimed his mouth as easily as he’d claimed everything else about Crowley. “Keep your hands up,” he whispered against Crowley’s lips. “You’re so very pretty, my dear, don’t move an inch.” And then he peppered kisses all over Crowley’s jaw.

Crowley was going to die. He’d thought things were awful before, but now he was really going to discorporate right here. It felt like being burned; the heat of Aziraphale’s mouth seared his skin, tingling in the aftermath and making him groan. He wanted to writhe; only the cage of Aziraphale’s limbs kept him still.

“So overwhelmed, just from this,” Aziraphale whispered. “I worry you’ll pop off if I so much as looked at your pretty cock.”

Crowley whined, shaking his head mindlessly.

“Perhaps I should let you,” Aziraphale continued ruthlessly. “I could rub you through your tarty trousers until you spilled all over yourself and then fuck you in your own mess.”

There wasn’t a word to describe the noise Crowley made then, but he very nearly made a mess without Aziraphale’s help. “Angel,” he breathed, “you can’t say that.” It was too dirty; those words coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth made Crowley’s head spin.

Aziraphale smirked. “Does it excite you, my being filthy?” he asked softly. “Clearly you always pictured me quite the innocent. I’ve shocked you, but you like it, don’t you?”

Crowley shivered, arching his neck in hopes of getting another kiss.

Aziraphale indulged him, sucking on his tongue before pulling away and leaving him panting for breath. “Tell me you like it when I’m dirty,” he whispered.

Crowley’s mouth opened, but all he managed was a squeak.

Aziraphale clucked. “No no, my dear, I need to know you enjoy it before I can keep going. I can’t possibly tell you how I want to spread your legs and suck your pretty cock if you don’t—”

Crowley couldn’t help it. Later, he’d attest to the fact that he really couldn’t help it. His whole body arched, and he came untouched with a bitten-back cry. The only thing sparing him the indignity of hitting himself in the eye was the indignity of coming in his pants like a boy seeing a tit for the first time. He collapsed against the bed, face burning with shame. 

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Crowley turned his head to the side, hating himself.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to lick a searing stripe up Crowley’s exposed neck, sending aftershocks all through his body. Crowley cried out weakly, melting into it, and mewled when Aziraphale bit the tendon. 

“Gorgeous,” Aziraphale hissed against his skin. “Can’t wait to see it again. Do you know how I’ve _imagined_ what you look like when you come?”

Crowley shuddered. “Oh God, angel—”

“Off.” Aziraphale reached down, fumbling at Crowley’s fly. “Get these off. I want you naked, darling, get rid of them.”

Crowley groaned, snapping his fingers to get rid of the trousers. He didn’t think he could move much beyond that; he felt a bit like a boiled noodle. “There.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale primly. “Now, I think we can assume that you do in fact like it when I’m dirty.”

“Piss off,” Crowley mumbled; the shame was coming back faster than the euphoria now that he’d come.

“No need to be rude.” Aziraphale frowned at him. “I made you come, just as I’d planned to. I enjoyed it, and I’d like to make you do it again. Is that acceptable to you?”

Crowley groaned, throwing an arm over his face, and then cursed; his glasses mashed painfully into his cheek.

“Will you take those off?” snapped Aziraphale. “Honestly, Crowley.” 

Crowley grunted, flinging the glasses aside and scowling up at Aziraphale. “Happy?”

“Incandescently,” Aziraphale answered him warmly, and kissed the tip of his nose.

Crowley was reduced to some incoherent noises as he tried to come up with a response to that.

Aziraphale nuzzled his cheek. “I love you,” he said softly. “Tell me you know that.”

“I know that,” Crowley answered him, staring up at the ceiling. He swallowed. “Me too, angel.”

“I know you do.” Aziraphale kissed along Crowley’s jaw. “How could I doubt it, my darling, after everything you’ve done for me?”

Crowley closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of Aziraphale’s lips on his skin. He sighed, wiggling his toes and feeling delightfully relaxed.

And then Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his chest, right over his heart. “You know,” Aziraphale whispered conspiratorially, “I’m still terribly hard just from watching you. It aches, Crowley.”

And all the tension that had drained out of Crowley’s body snapped back into place. He drew in a sharp breath. “Can’t have that,” he whispered back.

Aziraphale’s whole face lit up. “You wouldn’t make me suffer, would you?” He dropped his eyes to Crowley’s chest and then glanced up again.

“Tease,” Crowley told him, half smiling. “What do you want from me, angel?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully, “it’s a very long list, but if I had to start at the top I think I’d still like to spread your pretty legs and suck your cock.”

Crowley bit his lip. “That’s not gonna do anything for you,” he said.

“Won’t it?” Aziraphale smirked. “There are worse ways to come than with a man’s cock in your mouth.”

Like in your trousers. Crowley scowled. “I just meant—shouldn’t I—?”

“You should lie there and let me do as I please,” said Aziraphale tartly. “Be good for me, Crowley. Can you do that?”

Crowley squirmed again. He wasn’t good at this, laying back and letting someone else do things to—or for—him. Like the time he’d let Aziraphale talk him into a Turkish massage and had lied about having diarrhea in order to get out of having some stranger keep putting their hands on him. 

But Aziraphale’s hands on him...that was rather different. And Aziraphale’s _mouth_ on him. He couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t dissolve.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was a dirty cheat, because that hand on Crowley’s chest slid to the left, grazing his nipple, and Aziraphale gazed into his eyes. “My darling, will you let me taste you? I want to so badly.”

Crowley made a garbled sort of agreement. It wasn’t terribly coherent, but it made Aziraphale smile, so that was alright.

“Oh, thank you,” he breathed, like Crowley was the one doing him a favor. His fingers skirted across Crowley’s left nipple, making Crowley jerk, and he grinned. 

Crowley wasn’t going to survive this. His breathing picked up as Aziraphale lowered his head to kiss his neck again. It shouldn’t have been this sensitive; what was the point of it feeling this good? Crowley couldn’t say, but the long, slow licks Aziraphale was treating him to made him shiver.

“You’re delicious,” Aziraphale whispered against his collarbone in a wash of hot breath. “I could spend hours tasting you.”

Crowley whined. “I wouldn’t survive it, angel,” he breathed. Jury was out on whether he’d melt through the mattress now.

“You would. You’d lay there and let me do anything I liked to you,” Aziraphale murmured indulgently. The hand on his chest slid to his waist, and Aziraphale followed it down. “Hands back up, darling. I want to—how did you phrase it?—make you take it.”

“Oh no,” Crowley whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as Aziraphale’s tongue stroked across his nipple in a line of fire. “I can’t, angel, it’s gonna be too much.”

“For me, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “You can do it for me.” His teeth grazed the edge of Crowley’s pectoral, making him whine.

“Okay,” he panted. “I’ll try.” He raised his arms again as Aziraphale licked across the center of his chest, hot tongue rasping across his skin. 

“Good boy,” Aziraphale cooed. “Lovely, sweet thing. I’m going to be so good to you, my dear.” He moved further down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Crowley’s stomach. “This is what I imagined when I first saw your photo,” he confessed. 

“Fuck,” Crowley whispered, closing his eyes.

“That photo looked so wanton, so deliberately _slutty—_ I think that’s the word they use now, isn’t it?” Aziraphale nibbled on Crowley’s hip as warm hands pushed his knees apart.

“Yeah,” Crowley squeaked. “That’s the word they use, angel.”

“Oh good. It’s hard to keep up.” Aziraphale lowered his gaze to Crowley’s cock where it lay soft and filthy against his thigh. “My, you made such a mess of yourself, my dear.” He clucked reprovingly.

Crowley couldn’t look. It was humiliating, having Aziraphale tut over the state of his cock like a maiden aunt. It also turned him on more than he was at all comfortable with.

“What am I to do with you?” Aziraphale sounded positively gleeful, overacting just a bit the way he did with his stupid magic shows. And lord help Crowley if that was how Aziraphale liked to talk dirty, because he’d throw himself into the sun if that horrible patter started to get him hard, he really would. “I suppose I’ll have to clean you up myself.”

“Not with that stupid—” Crowley began to whine, but he lost his capacity for speech when Aziraphale bent to lap delicately at his still-soft cock. The resulting noise had more in common with a teakettle than Crowley’s actual speaking voice.

“Mmmm...” Aziraphale sounded like he did when he ate crepes; Crowley had a bizarrely sexy image of himself laid out on a plate for Aziraphale to eat. “Filthy thing, I’ll set you to rights in no time.” 

Crowley had nothing to hold onto except the sheets, because Aziraphale had told him to keep his hands up. But dear God, he nearly grabbed Aziraphale’s hair when the angel sucked his cock deep into his mouth and proceeded to moan around him while he slurped. 

“Holy fuck,” he panted, opening his eyes to stare down in aroused horror as Aziraphale _opened his mouth_ just to show Crowley his own cock resting on the angel’s tongue. “Oh bless it, angel, that’s too much. I can’t, I can’t—you’ve got to—”

Aziraphale cut him off by sucking him in again; Crowley’s head fell back against the mattress with a despairing moan.

He couldn’t tell if it was good or bad; he was so sensitive that it nearly felt painful, but at the same time he knew he could come again if Aziraphale kept this up. It was fucking with his head, all these conflicting feelings, and he was so dizzy with lust and revulsion that he couldn’t do anything but make weak, pitiful noises and let Aziraphale have him.

And Aziraphale had him, alright. The angel pushed his knees up, spreading him wider and moaning deep in his chest as he messily sucked Crowley’s cock. Crowley was practically bent in half, open and exposed to whatever Aziraphale wanted to do to him.

Fuck, that had him starting to harden again, just like the wet, sloppy slide of Aziraphale’s mouth over him. Filthy, the sounds of it. Crowley had never considered how blowjobs sounded, but these were slick, wet slurps punctuated by Aziraphale’s hungry little moans.

Aziraphale changed technique as Crowley chubbed up in his mouth; he began to bob his head, wrapping a hand around the base of Crowley’s cock while he lavished attention on the head. His free hand went to Crowley’s thigh, holding him open.

Crowley had wanted this, back when he’d thought Aziraphale was a random human from the internet. It had sounded so good in his fantasies, but not overwhelming. Not like this, where it felt like the only thing keeping him in his body was the pressure of Aziraphale’s hands. This was more than he’d realized sex could be; he felt dirty and small and strangely cherished. Something worthless that Aziraphale had picked up and tucked into his pocket to love anyway. 

Something wet tickled his cheek, and Crowley opened his eyes to stare up at the blurry ceiling. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying. Immediately he wanted his glasses back, wanted to hide his face, maybe roll away, only it felt so bloody _good,_ the things Aziraphale was doing to him. His breath came in great, heaving sobs, squirming because he couldn’t hold still for this, it was too much. His cock was hard and his eyes were leaking and Aziraphale caressed his thigh with a tender thumb as he relentlessly sucked his cock. 

He couldn’t last. There was a tightness starting in his balls, an ache that spread outward through his whole body. Felt like an itch under his skin. Maddening. He thrashed, sobbing, seeking some kind of relief, but there was only Aziraphale, slowly and steadily ratcheting up the tension higher and higher, and God, if he really loved Crowley he wouldn’t torment him like this. This was torture, it was too much—

The tension snapped and Crowley let out a wounded animal noise as he came. His toes curled. His back arched and he tossed his head, letting it wash over him in pulses. And Aziraphale took it all, swallowing him down and jerking him off to encourage the last of it. Crowley couldn’t watch.

He moaned when Aziraphale finally let him go, panting raggedly up at the ceiling. It felt a bit like leaving his own body. He’d never been discorporated, but it had to be something like this.

“ _Crowley,_ ” Aziraphale breathed, moving up to cover Crowley’s body with his own. “Oh, my dear.” He stroked Crowley’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that had tracked down them. “You were wonderful.”

Crowley twitched his arms, then caught himself and put them back.

“Oh—” Aziraphale took both Crowley’s hands in his own and kissed the back of them. “I love you, my darling. So very, very much.” He slipped Crowley’s arms around his own neck and pressed close against his side. 

Crowley weakly tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s curls, trying to catch his breath. “Angel,” he whispered, and then couldn’t think of a single word to say.

“My dear Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his cheek, softly licking up a stray tear. “Was it too much?”

“It was a lot.” Crowley swallowed. “You didn’t come.”

Aziraphale nuzzled his jaw. “I didn’t. I wanted to please you.”

Crowley thought about this. Was he pleased? He still felt a bit like overcooked pasta, floating in an empty pot with no purpose at all. What was the point of him if Aziraphale wasn’t satisfied? “You should come,” he said, licking dry lips. 

Aziraphale studied his face. “Are you certain you don’t want me to hold you?”

“I’ll hold you,” Crowley promised. “Please, angel.”

Something in his voice must have convinced Aziraphale, because the angel pressed another soft kiss to his cheek. “Alright,” he whispered, reaching down to unfasten his trousers. “I must admit, seeing you like this was so exciting.”

Crowley bit his lip as he looked down the length of their bodies to where Aziraphale had taken his cock out. It was beautiful, pink and shiny at the tip, thick enough that Crowley whined at the thought of it in his mouth or his arse. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale’s voice went breathy as he touched himself. “After all, I’ve loved you for so long...”

“I loved you too,” Crowley breathed. “But I never imagined this. Angel, you look so good.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “I’m so glad I was your first, darling. I want to show you everything.”

Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale’s hand where it worked his cock. He used a tight grip, twisting just a bit at the head, and occasionally he’d pause to smear precum around the flushed tip with his thumb. “Are you close?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes,” Aziraphale told him, biting his lip. “It won’t be long, not with the taste of you in my mouth—”

Crowley kissed him, teeth clacking in his clumsy urgency. “Come, angel,” he whispered eagerly. “Please.”

Aziraphale cried out softly, hand speeding up, and then he was coming, painting Crowley’s hip and thigh with white streaks. He kissed Crowley again, sloppy, and Crowley whined at the taste of his own come. 

“I love you,” he breathed against Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled them tightly together. “You,” he whispered, “are everything I ever wanted and never thought I could have.”

Crowley shoved his face into Aziraphale’s neck, clinging now that he was allowed. He nodded, trusting Aziraphale to know the gesture for what it was: agreement, acknowledgement, a simple statement of the fact that Crowley’s heart beat only for Aziraphale and had done for centuries.

Warm hands caressed his back, stroking over faintly itchy skin. “You are my love,” Aziraphale whispered. “My sweetest love.”

Crowley closed his eyes, letting the words soothe him. This he could get behind; Aziraphale’s arms felt just right wrapped around him, and the angel’s soft body pressed tight to his was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Better, even, because it was real. And if they were a bit sticky with spit and come, well, that just made the whole thing feel less like a dream. 

He rubbed his nose affectionately across Aziraphale’s jaw, smiling against the faintest rasp of stubble. Typical of the angel to let facial hair grow just for the pleasure of a shave when he went to the barber. Crowley liked how it felt when they kissed. Just like he liked the softness of Aziraphale’s curls where his fingers were still tangled in them, and the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest. This was better than Heaven; if Falling got him here Crowley could almost think it was worth it.

It was possible he was being far too saccharine for his own good. He shifted his leg, feeling the itch under his skin again. “‘M about to shed, angel,” he mumbled. “Won’t be long.”

“I know,” Aziraphale murmured, still petting his back in long strokes. “If...that is—I can go, if you prefer to be alone during.”

Crowley sighed. Did he want to be alone? Instincts aside, it got a bit boring being alone for his shed with nothing but telly and champagne. And if Aziraphale had already seen him this vulnerable, well...

“Dunno,” he muttered, putting off making the decision now. “Ask me again in the morning.”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale kissed his forehead, which was absurdly sweet and absolutely didn’t make Crowley melt against him like a puddle.

He grunted, as though that would restore a bit of his dignity.

“I know you want to sleep,” Aziraphale whispered. “So sleep. I’ll be here.”

And Crowley did what he’d always done. He listened to Aziraphale and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale was so wonderfully warm. Crowley squirmed against him, shifting so his coils lay more completely over the angel’s body. Aziraphale’s hand gently stroked the top of his head, and it was all so peaceful that it took Crowley rather longer than it should have to notice that the reason he couldn’t see anything wasn’t because his eyes were closed—it was that his eyecaps had finally thickened in the night.

“Ssssssshit,” he mumbled, picking his head up and looking around. Nothing. “Well, it’s started,” he said grumpily to Aziraphale. 

“Yes, I can see.” Aziraphale reached up to gently scratch at his snout. “Your eyes are all cloudy, Crowley, can you see anything?”

“Nope.” Crowley couldn’t really scowl as a snake, but he was annoyed. He swung his head around again, but slowly so he didn’t accidentally knock into Aziraphale. “Normally I’ve got everything ssset up before this part.” 

“Let me help,” said Aziraphale. “You haven’t got thumbs, Crowley.”

Crowley tasted the air so that when he leveled Aziraphale with a look full of snakelike irritation, he was facing in the right direction.

“Please?” Aziraphale asked him softly. 

Crowley debated, but the matter was settled when Aziraphale kept scratching thoughtfully at his snout. It was wonderful; Crowley rubbed his head against the angel’s hand without thinking.

“Excellent!” Aziraphale sat up, bundling Crowley’s coils into his arms. “A hot bath with some oil will be just the thing!”

“Have you been planning for this?” Crowley twined around Aziraphale’s shoulders as the angel stood up and began walking.

“Of course.” Aziraphale sounded offended that he would even ask. “I’ve done some research, my dear, and I’m going to make sure you have a lovely and very successful shed.”

“Er, thanksss.” Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s head and decided that there was no stopping him. Might as well just let it happen if the angel had been doing research. If Crowley knew Aziraphale, he’d have pored over every herpetology book published in the last two hundred years.

It was sort of sweet.

“First a hot bath,” Aziraphale decided. “Do you want music? I know you can’t watch television, but if you’d prefer something, I can—”

“Oh, stop _fussing,_ angel! I’ve been shedding since the world was made.” Crowley’s tail twitched. “A bath is fine.”

“Music?” Aziraphale asked hopefully.

“No Queen,” Crowley told him.

Aziraphale’s little sniff told him exactly what the angel thought of that. “I’d been thinking Mozart or Schubert, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, alright.” Crowley flicked his tongue out to determine where they were; the air tasted of soap, so they’d made it to the bath. He wound himself more securely around Aziraphale’s shoulders, listening as Aziraphale puttered around turning on taps and digging through cabinets. Mozart started playing, quietly enough that they could still talk. Soon he could feel the steam in the air, easing the itch. It was worst at his snout; he wanted to get in his bath with the beautiful tile surround that had _just_ enough texture to scratch against. 

Aziraphale was still puttering though. “Do you want rose oil or sandalwood?” he asked.

Crowley stared unseeingly at him. “Do I look like I care?” he snapped when it became clear that Aziraphale was serious.

“I don’t know! I’m just trying to make things nice!” Aziraphale huffed.

And Crowley relented. “Sandalwood, I suppose,” he said, and resigned himself to smelling off his entire shed. It was the thought that counted.

“I’ll only do a few drops, I promise,” said Aziraphale, sounding positively giddy. There were some wet sounds, and the scent of sandalwood thick on Crowley’s tongue, and then Aziraphale announced, “I’m going to set you in now.”

Crowley allowed himself to be gathered up into Aziraphale’s arms and dropped unceremoniously into the bath. The water was, he had to admit, the perfect temperature, and the sandalwood had dispersed a bit, leaving things tasting pleasantly musky instead of cloying. He wiggled, getting comfortable and resting his chin on the edge of the tub. “Have you got a chair or something?” he asked Aziraphale. 

“Oh, I’ve got a cushion,” Aziraphale told him. “I thought it would be nice if I could sit close to you.”

Crowley could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice, and it made him wiggle happily. “If you’re sure. Honestly, it’s not that exciting. I just soak for a bit, angel. Nothing worth going all out for.”

“Nevertheless,” said Aziraphale primly. “I have food all prepared for when you’re hungry again.”

“There’s two rats in the freezer,” Crowley told him.

“They’ll go well with the mice,” said Aziraphale without missing a beat.

Crowley paused. “You got me mice?” he asked quietly.

“I told you I was happy to help,” said Aziraphale with dignity. He lowered his voice a bit. “You’re always so good to me, Crowley. And please don’t argue, because it’s true. You’re constantly doing little things to make me happy, and I—I wanted to return the favor. Because I appreciate it so very much, and I want to make you as happy as you make me.”

Crowley lowered his head into the water so that only his snout was sticking out. “You make me happy,” he mumbled.

“I also hurt you,” said Aziraphale softly. “I’ve got to do better if I’m to deserve you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley used his tail to flick water in what he hoped was Aziraphale’s direction. “You’re the only one who’s ever loved me, angel, so don’t go flagellating yourself. Unless that’s something you like.” 

“Not particularly.” Aziraphale sounded amused. “I far prefer being tied down.”

Crowley’s nose slipped under the water and he blew a few bubbles before he could recover. “Angel!”

Aziraphale laughed, happy and carefree, and reached over to smooth a hand over Crowley’s head. “If I say you’re terribly sweet, will you pin me against a wall again?”

“See if I don’t,” Crowley muttered.

“I rather hope you do.” There was a wicked smile in Aziraphale’s voice. “It was very nice the last time you did it.”

“Hush now.” Crowley couldn’t blush, but it wasn’t for lack of effort.

“Do you really want me to?” Aziraphale scratched under Crowley’s chin, making him tip his head back contentedly. “I’ve had a lot of very scandalous thoughts about that moment, you know.”

“Aziraphale...” Crowley didn’t whine. That would be undignified.

“Well, it’s true. I rather enjoyed the notion that you might kiss me,” said Aziraphale. He sounded delighted.

“You wouldn’t have let me,” Crowley pointed out.

“Of course not, if you’d asked,” Aziraphale said as though that made sense. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you to.”

Crowley made a despairing noise and turned to rub his face on the tile. The relief was instant, and he let out a pleased sound as the first bit of skin began to come off.

“Oh, that really does go rather quickly, doesn’t it?” asked Aziraphale; Crowley had to wonder what he looked like. Hopefully it wasn’t gross. Crowley wasn’t prepared to be gross in front of Aziraphale at this new and fragile stage in their relationship.

Nothing for it; he grunted an affirmation and managed to get a better angle. Now he could feel the skin start to split. Lord, that was a relief.

“Tell me to stop asking questions if I’m being annoying, but how long does this part usually take?” Aziraphale asked, sounding interested.

“Dunno,” Crowley grunted. “I usually finish a bottle of champagne before it’s over.”

“Oh! Did you want champagne?” 

“I—yeah, alright.” Crowley was close to getting his snout free. He really wanted his eyecaps off so he could see Aziraphale properly while they talked.

“Perfect. I’ll be right back.” There was a shuffle as Aziraphale got to his feet.

“Use the bowl on the top shelf above the sink!” Crowley called after him.

“Yes, dear!” came the reply, and if Crowley wiggled a bit with pure glee at the sound of it, then there was no one in the room to see.

He listened to Aziraphale puttering in his kitchen, still absently rubbing his jaw along the tile. There was the telltale sound of a cork popping, a cheerful “oops!” followed by a ripple of angelic magic (“I heard that!” Crowley yelled; Aziraphale called back, “everything’s fine!”), and then footsteps coming back into the bathroom.

“Here we are,” said Aziraphale. “It was a spot of fuss to find a tray for both my glass and your bowl, but I’ve managed it.” He set something down with a gentle thump.

Crowley flicked out his tongue and tasted the distant, sharp fizz of champagne. Carefully—he’d knocked over the bowl a few years ago—he nosed toward it, pausing when Aziraphale’s hand touched his jaw.

“You’re very close,” Aziraphale warned softly. “This way.”

Crowley flicked his tongue again, letting himself savor Aziraphale’s proximity, and allowed himself to be guided toward the bowl. Immediately bubbles tickled his nose, and he hissed in surprise. 

“Are you alright?” asked Aziraphale with some alarm.

Crowley hissed at him. “I’m fine.” He bent to drink, enjoying the fizz now that he was ready for it.

“To us,” Aziraphale said softly; Crowley picked his head up rather too quickly and slid back into the tub.

He came up sputtering. “Can’t really toast you back,” he told Aziraphale before the angel could mention it.

“Oh, that’s alright. A toast is an emotional gesture as much as a physical one.”

Crowley meant to answer, but the itching on the side of his face suddenly became unbearable. He groaned, lunging for the tile to scratch against. It was sublime; warm and rough, bringing relief that made his entire body squirm. “Oh, I hate this part,” he muttered when he’d got tired and slumped. “Once my head’s finished it’s all much easier.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” Aziraphale stroked the top of his head with feather-light fingers.

It was....easy, Crowley found to his surprise. They chatted and drank until Mozart ran out, and Crowley managed to _finally_ get a good solid start on his shed. He nearly screamed from relief when his eyecaps came off.

“There, that’s better,” he muttered, giving a wriggle to push his skin further down. He could see again, thankfully, and noticed Aziraphale lounging on a plush cushion in his shirtsleeves, gorgeously rumpled. 

“More champagne?” the angel asked with a knowing smile, and stretched his arms above his head. 

Lord above, he hadn’t tucked in his shirt, and the pale glimpse of his belly nearly sent Crowley splashing back into the tub. He recovered just in time. “Yeah, sure.”

Really, it wasn’t all that different from before. It was just that Crowley could look now, and be open about it. No more pretending they didn’t want to tear down the walls they’d built up around themselves. Now, finally, he could lay his head on Aziraphale’s outstretched hand and taste his skin and drowse in the warm bath.

“I do think you’ve soaked long enough,” Aziraphale told him after a bit of glorious lounging. “All the books say that half an hour is long enough, and we’ve been here far past that.”

“I think I know what I’m doing, angel,” Crowley said, wishing briefly that he could roll his eyes. “The fussing is completely unnecessary.”

Aziraphale reached into the bath and plucked Crowley out, not seeming to mind that Crowley was dripping all over his shirt.

“Hey—put me down!” Crowley coiled around Aziraphale’s arms instinctively. “Angel, this is embarrassing.”

“Nonsense,” tutted Aziraphale, gathering up a large towel.

“At least bring the champagne,” Crowley sighed, letting himself be taken back into the bedroom and laid down on his own pillow. “That’s good stuff, that is. Can’t let it go to waste.”

“I would never waste good champagne, dear,” said Aziraphale primly. “I had an idea that might help you along.”

“What’s that?” asked Crowley suspiciously. “It’s just that I remember some of your ideas.” 

Aziraphale gave him a look that informed him he’d pay for that. “I’ve seen it on—” he scrunched up his face—“the You Tubes.”

“YouTube,” said Crowley flatly. “You’ve been watching bloody snake shedding guides on YouTube.”

“The books weren’t terribly helpful without a visual guide,” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Alright.” Crowley had already surrendered control and dignity, might as well give this a shot. “What’s your idea?”

“If I just—” Aziraphale reached over and wrapped his entire hand around Crowley’s body, just behind the neck where his skin was coming off. 

Crowley shuddered, giving an involuntary squirm; it felt good, the pressure, and he squirmed again, feeling the delicious sensation of old skin separating from the new. 

“Is that good?” asked Aziraphale softly.

Crowley peered up at him. Aziraphale was watching him intently, with a bitten lip that meant he was nervous. Of course he was nervous; he was afraid of hurting Crowley. “It is good,” he reassured him, letting out a delighted groan as he gave another wriggle. “Helps a bit, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale bent to press a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “Do whatever you need to, my dear. I’ll hold you.”

“Thanks,” said Crowley a bit breathlessly, and kept squirming. Each muscle contraction moved his shed skin further down his body, helped along by Aziraphale’s warm, steady hand. Felt wonderful, getting it off him.

“It’s coming nicely, isn’t it?” Aziraphale smiled down at him. 

Crowley tensed, wriggled, and felt more of the old skin give. “Yep.” He paused a moment to breathe, relishing the weight of Aziraphale’s hand on him, and went back to it. Turned out this was loads faster when he had something bracing him. He didn’t have to keep rubbing against walls hoping for enough friction. This might have been the easiest shed he’d ever had; it was hard to keep track.

“All in one piece, just as it ought.” Aziraphale nodded. “Just lovely, my dear. You’re so very bright and handsome with your fresh skin.”

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley’s next squirm was a bit embarrassed. “I can’t concentrate with you prattling nonsense.”

“I think you just get flustered when I compliment you,” said Aziraphale smugly.

Crowley hissed at him.

Aziraphale smirked. It was deeply attractive, and also deeply irritating, so Crowley resolved to ignore it.

He resumed moving, tensing and relaxing and feeling each hard-won inch. At this point they’d managed to get the old skin about halfway down his body, and the air on his freshly revealed scales felt glorious. He wanted the last of it off, but there was no rushing. He’d tried that once and spent a few miserable weeks recovering from nearly flaying a section off his back. It was just like being back in Hell.

“That’s it, darling,” murmured Aziraphale. “Nearly there, keep going.”

Crowley was not about to respond to praise right now. He was already feeling vulnerable. He pretended not to hear and gave another wriggle, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers twitch around him.

“Well done, my dear.”

Lord have mercy. Crowley turned slowly to fix Aziraphale with a look. “Are you trying to make this weird?” he asked.

“What’s weird about it?” Aziraphale blinked innocently. He let go of Crowley’s middle and stroked a soft fingertip down his freshly shed back. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

Crowley curled instinctively into an s-shape. “That’s sensitive, angel!”

“I know.” Aziraphale smiled. 

Crowley paused. “Really?” he asked, baffled. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “You’re lovely no matter what form you’re wearing,” he said. “Why should I hold back when we’re already in such an intimate situation?”

Crowley stared at him, mouth opening a bit. He’d blink, only he wasn’t currently in possession of any eyelids. Somehow he’d never thought of Aziraphale as particularly amorous, but that showed what he knew. It still boggled his mind, the idea that Aziraphale had been holding back as much as he had. “Er,” he managed to say very coolly.

“I can stop, if you like,” Aziraphale told him softly. “I know I very nearly overwhelmed you last night.”

They hadn't talked about that. Crowley coiled with embarrassment at the memory. “Did not,” he muttered.

“You cried,” Aziraphale pointed out mercilessly. “I don’t want our time together to be anything but wonderful, but I know I can be a bit—well, bossy.”

Crowley laughed. That was a bit like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch, but at least the angel was approaching something like self-awareness. “That’s one way to put it, angel.”

“You can’t simply let me run roughshod over you here, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked irritated now. “The two of us have—established patterns of behavior, but so many of those are because of me and my unwillingness to bend. I don’t want us to continue on that way. It—it didn’t make us happy.”

“I’ve never been happier than when I was with you,” Crowley told him honestly. “You’re being awfully hard on yourself, Aziraphale. What’s this about?”

Aziraphale looked down at the rumpled sheets, which he’d apparently cleaned, because as much as Crowley surreptitiously flicked his tongue, he couldn’t smell the sex on them. “This entire—farce—that we just went though has made me think.”

Oh no. Crowley raised his head. “Look, I don’t want you feeling bad, angel,” he said. “Please, let’s forget the whole thing and just enjoy what we’ve got, hm?” He flicked his tail encouragingly.

“I never want you to doubt what you mean to me,” Aziraphale told him. “And I don’t ever want you to—to shut up and tolerate what I give you, without asking for things. You deserve everything you want, Crowley, and I’m ashamed of how much I’ve assumed about you without ever asking how you felt.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how to handle that little speech, but he itched again terribly, so he squirmed instead of responding. “Reckon you can start by holding me again,” he finally grunted after wriggling around with no relief.

Aziraphale huffed and obliged him. “You really dislike talking about these things, don’t you?” he asked softly as his fingers circled Crowley’s body.

“Yep,” Crowley answered, giving a pleased squirm. “Don’t take it personally, angel. It’s habit at this point.”

“Because of me?” asked Aziraphale quietly.

Crowley turned and nuzzled the angel’s free hand. “No, not because of you,” he said. “That’s all them—” He jerked his head downward. “Can’t be vulnerable around that lot. Bad idea.”

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale tipped his chin up and pecked him directly on the mouth. 

Crowley flicked his tongue out in surprise, tasting the champagne on Aziraphale’s mouth. “Angel,” he said after they’d parted, “I—”

Aziraphale kissed him again, with more intent this time. “I love you,” he whispered, breath hot on Crowley’s face.

“Love you too,” Crowley whispered back. He gave another wriggle, and made a soft noise of relief when his old skin slid further down.

Aziraphale glanced at it. “Nearly there. Squirm just a bit more for me, darling.”

Crowley wanted to do it anyway, so he tensed and pushed, letting Aziraphale help him along. 

“Perfect,” Aziraphale whispered. “You wonderful thing, Crowley.”

It was coming steadily now, blessed (or damned) relief as his old skin peeled back. Crowley groaned at the feel of it, and at Aziraphale’s wonderful, strong fingers helping to ease the itch. “Thanks, angel. This is—it’s good.”

“I’m going to have to check you over when it’s finished,” Aziraphale said softly. “It’s only responsible, making sure you haven’t got any stuck shed.”

“Oh, that never happens, no need to worry,” Crowley assured him, happily writhing just a bit faster to get on with things. “Once it’s done, I can have a nibble and then turn back—”

“No no, I’ve seen that it’s very important to check,” said Aziraphale. “Especially places like your snout and your vent.”

Crowley paused. “You really are full of surprises, angel,” he said wryly. “Something you want to tell me?”

Aziraphale chuckled, a deep, warm sound that Crowley could feel all through his belly. “Only that I want you in all of your forms,” he said with another kiss to Crowley’s mouth. “I really can’t tell you how much I adore you.”

Crowley sighed, flicking his tongue against Aziraphale’s lips. “You’re quite a freak, aren’t you? Who knew you were some kind of sex fiend this whole time?”

“Practice makes perfect, my dear,” said Aziraphale primly. “Although I’ve never attempted congress with a snake, so I’m afraid it won’t help us now.”

Crowley groaned. “I can’t even think about getting off until this bloody thing is off me,” he said, squirming. The shed was nearly to his tail, freedom so close he could taste it.

“Then we’ll focus on that,” said Aziraphale decisively. “Let’s get you taken care of so I can take care of you again.”

“Oh, for—why is it always you doing things to me? I don’t want to lay back like some spoiled—” Crowley knew there was a term for what he was thinking.

“Pillow princess?” Aziraphale suggested mildly.

“Yeah, that,” Crowley agreed, huffing. 

“Well, we can certainly take turns pleasuring one another,” said Aziraphale without even blushing. He gave Crowley a critical once-over. “How far does your mouth open?”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” said Crowley.

“Bashful, are you?” asked Aziraphale. The bastard; his eyes were dancing and a little smirk hovered on his lips.

“Not bashful,” muttered Crowley, looking away.

Aziraphale leaned over him; the heat from his body was delicious. “What happened to the saucy little minx who told me he wanted me to come on his face?” he breathed. “Do you want me to dirty up your pretty new skin? White on black is such a lovely contrast.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whipped back around to gape at him. “I’m trying to concentrate!”

Aziraphale snorted—snorted! At Crowley!—and sat back, giving Crowley a gentle squeeze around the middle. “I wouldn’t dream of stopping you, dear.”

Crowley groaned. Apparently they were doing this. Crowley wasn’t sure how he felt about it, having it off as a snake. He’d never tried it before, and it made him feel a bit weird. Not necessarily bad, but definitely weird. Honestly, he couldn’t believe Aziraphale wanted to. He had no arms to wrap around the angel like this, or hands or lips to touch him with. All he could do was wiggle, which he was doing right now, focused on getting the last of his old skin off of him. It always took longer than it ought to, he’d learned. 

What was in it for Aziraphale, shagging Crowley like this? Seemed counterintuitive. “Why do you want to?” Crowley finally asked. He could only ponder in silence for so long.

“Want to what? Make love to you like this?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley winced.

“Is that what we're calling it?” he asked grumpily. “I thought that’s what middle-aged housewives who fuck with the lights off call it.”

“It’s practical to fuck with the lights off,” said Aziraphale. “I can see in the dark. And yes, we are in love, therefore what we do is making love.”

“I hate calling it that. Not sexy at all.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Fine. I want you to swallow my cock while you rub off on me until you come. Does that sound better?”

Crowley shut his mouth.

Aziraphale looked smug. “Keep moving, Crowley. You’re nearly finished.”

“Yeah,” Crowley croaked. “Right.” He gave a determined wriggle, and then another, and a few more after that had his tail finally slipping free of the old skin. Oh, that was loads better. Crowley curled into a delighted s-shape, reveling in the feel of the soft sheets on his skin. 

“Oh, that’s much better.” Aziraphale had already gotten rid of the shed skin, and now he was reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t you look sleek and handsome, Crowley.”

“Hush,” muttered Crowley, but it was a token resistance; he already knew he’d lost this particular war. Besides, he was more interested in watching Aziraphale bare more and more skin. He slithered closer and flicked his tongue, tasting hints of sweat and come under Aziraphale’s cologne. It was heady. 

Aziraphale shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, giving Crowley a good look at his body for the first time. Pale and soft, with sparse blonde hair across his chest, circling pink nipples and trailing faintly down his soft belly. His arms were surprisingly muscular, but his hands were fine and manicured. Oh, Crowley loved him.

“You’re beautiful,” he told Aziraphale softly, a bit surprised by his own boldness.

Aziraphale, who said words like “cock” without blushing, turned pink and ducked his head. “Thank you, my dear. So are you.”

Crowley dismissed this with a flick of his tail. “Not like you. You’re—” he broke off. Words didn’t exist for what Aziraphale was. He was warm sunlight and the scent of apples and old books, soft hands wrapped around a flaming sword. He was bright smiles and small kindnesses that Crowley hadn’t asked for but nonetheless cherished, simple as they were. “You’re everything,” he muttered. If the romantic period had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t much of a poet. 

“Not without you I’m not.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s face between his hands and kissed him, first on the mouth, then on top of his head. “I’m afraid I’m quite desperate for you, Crowley.” He nuzzled his nose against Crowley’s fresh skin. “I want to glut myself. I’m hungry for you. Your mouth, your skin, the way you look at me...”

Aziraphale was better with words than Crowley was. All Crowley could manage in response to that was to nuzzle back, coiling around the angel’s body to get as close as possible. “Anything you want,” he promised, quivering at the way Aziraphale’s body hair felt against his sensitive skin. “Anything at all, angel.”

“Oh my dear, you’re so terribly sensitive,” Aziraphale breathed. “May I touch you?”

“Okay.” Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, but he was certainly willing to try. Aziraphale stroked soft fingers over his back, catching gently on the slick scales, and Crowley twitched under his hands. 

“Is it too much?” Aziraphale whispered.

“No,” Crowley gasped, writhing in spite of himself. “It’s good.”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale smiled and continued stroking his way down Crowley’s spine. “Kiss me again, darling?” 

Crowley raised his face to Aziraphale’s, flicking his tongue across those sweet lips. Kissing was better when he was human-shaped, but if Aziraphale wanted him like this then he’d adapt. He gasped when Aziraphale reached his tail and curved a hand under his belly.

“There we are,” the angel murmured soothingly, petting a delicate fingertip across the slit he’d located with unnerving ease. “Do you like it when I touch you here?”

Crowley wrapped his tail around Aziraphale’s wrist without quite knowing why, and pushed against his hand. “Yeah,” he managed. “That’s good, angel.”

“Good.” And there was that deep, confident purr in Aziraphale’s voice. Turned Crowley’s bones to jelly, that tone. It didn’t help that he was still teasing mercilessly at Crowley’s vent.

“More,” Crowley croaked after a few more minutes of gentle petting. “Angel, it’s not _enough._ ”

Aziraphale nodded. “I have you, Crowley. Here.” He wrapped his hand around the base of Crowley’s tail and squeezed carefully, massaging the skin. 

Crowley let out a hissing yell, gripping Aziraphale’s wrist tightly with his tail as the hot, rhythmic pressure coaxed the hemepenes out of his vent. “Ah, fuck,” he breathed. “Never done that before.”

Aziraphale gave him an indulgent smile and then leaned over to examine them. “Oh,” he said with some surprise, “they’re smooth.”

“Were they not supposed to be?” Crowley twisted around to peer at his cocks. There they were, dark red and slick looking, forked like his bloody tongue.

“It’s just that most species have spines,” said Aziraphale.

“Why would I give myself cock spines?” Crowley demanded. “What was I gonna do with those, shag a porcupine?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know! I was merely observing!” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Well, find something else to observe!” snapped Crowley, coiling defensively.

“I like them,” Aziraphale said testily. “Do stop being quarrelsome, my dear.”

Crowley hissed at him, but stopped with a gurgle when Aziraphale ran a curious thumb across one of his cocks. 

“You know, the lack of spines makes lots of things easier,” Aziraphale said casually as he kept passing his thumb back and forth across Crowley’s cock in a deliberately nonchalant way.

He really was _such_ a bastard. Crowley just wished he found it irritating instead of distressingly sexy. “Oh?” he managed.

“Mm.” Aziraphale nodded. “You could coil around me very tightly and rub them against me, or I could suck them, or you could fuck me with them, one after the other, while you wrap your tail around my cock.”

Crowley let his head fall onto the bed and debated hiding under a pillow. He couldn’t even close his eyes or blush at the filth Aziraphale was saying! Honestly, he had no right to look that cherubic when he talked like that, never mind that he was technically a Principality.

“Why don’t you choose?” Aziraphale asked, in exactly the same tone he used to inquire about whether Crowley wanted lunch. “I seem to remember you having some very interesting ideas when we were chatting.”

“You mean sexting on Grindr,” Crowley mumbled, squirming as Aziraphale kept touching him. He needed to thrust; all those little tickles were doing was teasing him horribly. 

“You know exactly what I mean,” said Aziraphale, rubbing just a bit harder.

The touch made Crowley writhe; he hissed again, frustrated and turned on in equal measure. “Bastard,” he said accusingly.

“So I’ve been told.” Aziraphale grinned at him. “Just enough of one to be worth knowing, apparently. Do stop pretending you don’t like it and tell me whether you’d like to come in my mouth or in my arse.”

Fuck, the thought of either had Crowley twisting himself nearly into knots. “They’re not—not really big enough to do you much good, angel,” he managed.

“That’s why you’re going to use that thick, strong tail to help me along,” said Aziraphale; he jerked his wrist, and Crowley grabbed at him without thinking, holding him in place and coiling more of his tail around his arm. 

Crowley, lacking eyebrows, couldn’t glare as effectively as he’d like, but he did hiss darkly. “Fine. I’m flexible.”

“Good,” said Aziraphale tartly. “Now unhand me and let me take off my trousers.”

Bastard. Crowley reluctantly uncoiled; it was harder than it should have been, some snakey instinct he hadn’t previously noticed telling him to grip and hold and not let go. But as always, listening to Aziraphale was easier. He felt oddly bereft without the angel touching him, though, so he curled in on himself while he watched Aziraphale slip off his trousers.

Oh, he was pretty. Devastating, even. Crowley could weep over that arse, only he didn’t currently have tear ducts. Once his body had hands again, he was going to get better acquainted with that arse. Much, much better acquainted.

Aziraphale folded the trousers carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles before setting them aside. “Now,” he said crisply, “I think this will work best if I’m on my hands and knees. That way you can rest on my back. Don’t you agree?”

Crowley tried to think critically, but it was very hard when Aziraphale was climbing back into bed and presenting Crowley with his luscious arse. “Sure,” he croaked, since Aziraphale seemed to want an answer.

Aziraphale craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Crowley. “Darling,” he said softly, “come here and make love to me.”

And bless it, when he said it like that it really did sound sexy. Slithering proved a bit tricky with his dicks out, but Crowley managed to grip with his belly and get up Aziraphale’s leg with no major problems. “Think you ought to just pick me up if we’re ever gonna do this again,” he said, slightly out of breath from the effort of keeping his poor cocks from rasping along the sheets.

“Practice makes perfect.” Aziraphale nodded, shifting his weight so he could reach back to stroke Crowley’s skin. “Inside me now, dear. Give me your cock.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me where you learned to talk like that?” asked Crowley, wriggling between Aziraphale’s cheeks to begin the process of lining himself up. This would be easier if he had hands.

“You took a rather long nap for the latter half of the nineteenth century,” said Aziraphale, far too primly for someone reaching back to spread his arsecheeks apart. “So I joined a discreet gentlemen’s club in Portland Place. It was very instructive.”

“You engaged in debauchery with Victorian poets?” Crowley demanded, less surprised than he let on.

“Of every sort.” Aziraphale was grinning, Crowley could hear it. “There were sonnets dedicated to my arse.”

“Filthy little angel.” Crowley was delighted; now that the shock had worn off, it made perfect sense. Aziraphale was, at heart, a sensualist, and when left too long to his own devices tended to go positively batshit when it came to new experiences.

“ _Your_ filthy little angel,” said Aziraphale. “Fuck me, Crowley.”

Crowley was trying. The lack of hands was really starting to irritate him. He pushed, wriggled, recalibrated, pushed again, and hissed with annoyance as his cock slid against Aziraphale without actually going in. “Working on it,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Usually there’s hands to help with this bit, right?”

“Take your time, darling,” Aziraphale said patiently.

Somehow that frustrated Crowley more, even as he appreciated Aziraphale’s willingness to wait for him. He was careful this time when he lined up, and when he pushed—

Aziraphale grunted, and Crowley hissed, convulsing as he slid inside. Balls deep wasn’t terribly far for a snake (aside from being a bit of a misnomer, as the configuration was totally different), but Crowley could feel it all along his spine to the tip of his tail. “ _Angel,_ ” he breathed. “Fuck.”

“Do I feel good, Crowley?” Aziraphale bowed his back, stretching his arms out in front of him and sliding onto his belly with his arse in the air. “Is it as good as you’ve imagined?”

Crowley had never, strictly speaking, imagined fucking Aziraphale before last night, which made it technically true when he said, “yes, oh yes.”

“Now wrap your tail around me, darling.” Aziraphale gave Crowley another coy look over his shoulder. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

Crowley groaned, curling his tail carefully under Aziraphale’s body. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, since he couldn’t see what he was doing without the risk of sliding all the way off Aziraphale’s back. Slowly, he probed at soft, hot skin, reminding himself to explore Aziraphale’s balls at some later date, and then wrapped his tail gently around Aziraphale’s hard cock.

“ _Yes,_ ” Aziraphale sighed, rocking his hips. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Crowley had no choice but to move with him. “Stop moving, it’s like riding a horse.”

“You take that back!” Aziraphale laughed, jostling Crowley even more, and suddenly this all felt— _real._

No Aziraphale that Crowley had dreamed up would ever be so perfectly, infuriatingly himself in bed. It was no different from the way they were every day, and some strange feeling bloomed in Crowley’s chest when he thought about that. 

“Hey.” Crowley uncoiled enough to slither up Aziraphale’s back and flicked his tongue against his ear. “I love you.”

Aziraphale went still, breath catching. “Darling,” he whispered. “Oh, my dear.”

It suddenly seemed very intimate like this; Crowley could feel every breath Aziraphale took, pressed as he was along the length of his back. Aziraphale’s hips kept twitching as Crowley gripped his cock, and the sweet clutch of his body had Crowley fucking into him with mindless abandon.

They went quiet for a bit, just harsh breathing and the whisper of skin against sheets and an occasional hiss to break the perfect silence. Crowley wanted to drown in this feeling, the scent and sensation of Aziraphale surrounding him. It was perfect. It was Heaven, only better because it wasn’t cold or harsh. It was soft and warm and welcoming like the body beneath his.

It felt, Crowley realized, a lot like God’s love had, back when She’d loved him.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he focused on pleasing Aziraphale. His tail was quite good for that, he was coming to learn; he could grip and then squeeze rhythmically, drawing delicious little noises from Aziraphale and making him gasp. 

“You shake when I do this,” he hissed in Aziraphale’s ear, and clenched around his cock.

Aziraphale cried out, fingers tightening against the black sheets. “That’s because it’s so good,” he gasped. “Oh, do it again, Crowley. Do it again!”

So Crowley did, falling back into the rhythm he’d established earlier: thrust, clench, pull back, relax. Tricky, but manageable, and fuck, the noises Aziraphale kept making were really doing it for Crowley.

Crowley rocked into him again and stayed, squeezing Aziraphale’s cock in a quick, brutal rhythm that made the angel gasp and squeal and clench tight around him. That worked better than the thrusting had, although that had been delightful. This, though, felt right, in that strange snakey way Crowley was learning not to question. They were meant to be locked together. Better to go with it.

“I’m gonna come like this,” he whispered to Aziraphale, letting his tongue tickle the angel’s ear just to feel him quiver. “Just from feeling you under me. Can’t wait to do this again, angel. Get my hands all over you.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale panted. “You’re unfairly good at it, Crowley. Come inside me, I want to feel it.”

“Just as soon as I feel your sweet arse clench on me when you come,” Crowley whispered back.

“And you claim I’m filthy,” Aziraphale moaned. “ _Oh,_ I always knew you’d fuck me perfectly. Please keep doing that, Crowley, _please!_ ”

Crowley wouldn’t have stopped for anything, not when Aziraphale was begging like that. He’d do anything the angel wanted, anything at all, and if what Aziraphale wanted was the same as Crowley, then all the better. Aziraphale’s cock was gloriously hot against Crowley’s belly, and wet at the tip, which felt delicious as the tip of Crowley’s tail teased against it. He wanted to make Aziraphale feel this good all the time. He wanted to run his hands and his mouth all over Aziraphale’s body and show him how deeply he loved him. He wanted, just now, to make them both come.

Aziraphale tensed beneath him, hips bucking, and then with a soft cry he came all over Crowley’s tail. It made him spasm in interesting ways around Crowley’s cock, and although Crowley nearly got thrown off at one point, he was busy wringing the last of Aziraphale’s orgasm out of him. That hot, tight, wet clutch of his body, muscles still clenching, had Crowley right on the bloody edge—

“Do it, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. “Come in my arse.”

And that, as they say, was that. Crowley came with a hiss, coiling tightly against Aziraphale’s back as he rode it out. Finally, when it felt like each of his bones had liquified, he let his tail relax its death grip on Aziraphale’s softening cock. He pulled out, clinically noting that his own cocks were retreating into his body. 

He let Aziraphale collapse beneath him, and tenderly headbutted the angel’s ear with his head. A soft grunt was his answer.

It occurred to him that he was hungry. “Angel, did you want lunch?” he asked the silent room.

“Mm,” Aziraphale murmured drowsily, not picking up his head. “Yes, dear, that sounds lovely. In a moment.”

Crowley nuzzled that soft hair, overcome with affection. He’d waited before, and he could wait now. He rested his chin on Aziraphale’s head and let himself bask. 

There was something wonderful about this, just laying together. Every breath of Aziraphale’s rocked Crowley, sending him gently swaying as he listened to the slowing heartbeat under him. Very relaxing. And the angel radiated heat, warming Crowley all along his sensitive belly. “We just won’t tell anyone how we actually got together,” he decided with a nod.

Aziraphale snorted. “Oh, I’m afraid I’ve already told Madam Tracy.”

Crowley paused. “What?”

“Well, she was the one who told me about—” Crowley could _hear_ the air quotes— “digital communication. She did direct me first to something called Craig’s List, but I found it rather too crass for my taste.”

Crowley groaned and buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair as he imagined the angel carefully navigating his way through the morass of filth that was the UK’s Craigslist. “You know that site was one of mine,” he said once his brain restarted.

“I had wondered.” Aziraphale turned his head and rested it on his folded arms. 

Crowley dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. “Lunch?” he asked. “I thought you said you had plans for us.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale sat up excitedly; Crowley slid off his back to land in an undignified pile on the mattress. But it was hard to remain indignant when Aziraphale picked him up immediately and draped him around his neck with a tender pat. “Yes, of course. I remember how much you liked fondue in the seventies.”

“How exactly does fondue work when I’ve got no hands?” asked Crowley, coiling to get comfortable as they made their way into his kitchen. He supposed he could change back, but he wasn’t quite ready to yet. There was something far more satisfying about eating his rats the old-fashioned way and then having a nap before he became human-shaped again.

“I’ll feed you,” said Aziraphale warmly, turning his head to plant a smacking kiss to the nearest part of Crowley—right on his belly, which tickled.

“You’re going to hand feed me a dead rat?” Crowley asked blankly.

“Dipped in broth,” said Aziraphale. “I read that sometimes snakes enjoy having their prey dipped in chicken broth to make it smell more appealing, and it made me think—”

“—of fondue,” said Crowley. It made sense now, and if he was being honest, he found it terribly romantic. Best not let on; he didn’t want to be thought of as sappy. “Right.”

Aziraphale shot him a knowing look.

In the kitchen, alongside Crowley’s bowl and Aziraphale’s glass of champagne, there were already two steaming pots on the expensive and previously unused table. One had cheese bubbling away happily inside, with a single fork propped against it. The other had a tantalizing clear broth, scented with—Crowley flicked his tongue—thyme and garlic. “You shouldn’t have,” he said, a bit more breathlessly than he’d like.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You do sweet things for me all the time.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and there were instantly plates on the table along with the pots. On one was a selection of breads and sausages, and on the other were—

“I didn’t know you could get mice without the fur,” said Crowley interestedly, leaning closer to smell them.

“I had to call a few shops that specialized in reptiles,” Aziraphale admitted. “You said there were rats in the freezer?”

“Yeah.” Crowley rode along while Aziraphale crossed to the freezer and opened the door.

“My,” he said after a moment, “they do look judgmental, don’t they?”

“I’ve had to put up with it all week,” said Crowley glumly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “We’ll call this one Gabriel,” he said, taking the first rat out of the freezer, “and this one Hastur.”

Crowley laughed, delighted. “Bitchy, aren’t you?”

“Now, darling, it’s hardly undeserved.” Aziraphale grinned at him as he carried the rats back to the table, where a second plate had appeared. Gabriel and Hastur both went onto it, and then Aziraphale gently set Crowley onto the table as well. “I assume you want them warm, dear?” 

“Sure.” Crowley coiled up near the pot of broth, enjoying the heat. 

“Excellent.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and a bit of the stiffness went out of both rats. He picked up his fork and speared a sausage before dipping it into the cheese. “Mm,” he moaned as he took a bite. “Oh, that’s scrummy.”

Crowley shook his head fondly. He really did love watching Aziraphale eat. 

When Aziraphale had finished chewing, he reached out with his other hand and hovered over the plate of mice. “Did you want to start with a nibble, or eat Gabriel first?”

Crowley snickered. “You’ll have to carry the conversation once I swallow that massive prick,” he said.

“Fortunately I have some experience with that,” said Aziraphale mildly, making Crowley laugh again.

“Touché,” he countered. “Let’s have a mouse then.”

Aziraphale delicately picked up the nearest mouse by the tail and dipped it into the pot of broth. He swished it around a few times and then raised his eyebrows at Crowley.

It really did smell good. Crowley opened his mouth obediently, feeling his jaw stretch and give.

“Right,” said Aziraphale, and raised the mouse out of the pot so he could lower it into Crowley’s waiting mouth.

Went down smooth without the fur; Crowley was going to have to raise his standards from now on. He swallowed carefully, savoring the added flavor from the broth. This really was better than the old fashioned way he’d been going about it. Really, he should have thought of it sooner.

But then he’d have missed out on the softly pleased look on Aziraphale’s face, warm and content for having provided something that Crowley liked. 

When he’d got the tail down and taken a few minutes to recover, Crowley said, “that was nice.”

“I’m so glad.” Aziraphale laid a hand on him where he’d coiled across the table, and dipped a piece of bread in the cheese.

They ate, and Aziraphale worked through the nibbles while occasionally feeding Crowley a mouse. There had only been four on the plate, after all; Crowley considered, and then said, “you choose, angel. Gabriel first, or Hastur?”

Aziraphale gave the rats a beady look, then said, “Hastur, I think. Since he’s so fond of dipping others into dangerous liquids.” He set down the fork and picked up the rat with the white patch on its head. It did look a bit like Hastur’s manky hair, now that Crowley thought about it. 

He raised his head to look over the side of the pot as Aziraphale swished the rat through the broth; now that he thought about it, the fur would trap more flavor. Odd, how the thought of hair in his food disgusted him in one form and appealed in another, but he’d long since gotten used to it. He unhinged his jaw and happily began the process of swallowing the garlic and thyme flavored rat. 

Aziraphale held it steady for him, which was very thoughtful. Crowley would have to thank him for that after he could speak again. Took a few minutes to get it down, but Aziraphale was patient. “You know,” he said as Crowley worked on the rat, “I’ve been thinking that we really should go for a picnic. Perhaps the South Downs? We could make a day of it while the weather is still nice. I’ll make up a basket, and get some of that French cheese you like. Perhaps some olives and the Czech ham and one of my bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Oh, and a checked blanket to make it official! Do you know, I’ve never actually gone on a formal picnic? I always wanted the first time to be with you.”

Crowley loved him. Just fucking adored him. Probably best he didn’t have tear ducts, because God help him, but Aziraphale’s prattling was making something bubble in his chest like champagne. He swallowed Hastur’s tail and settled his head in Aziraphale’s hand, content just to touch him.

“I take it you like the idea,” said Aziraphale happily.

Crowley hummed, watching Aziraphale use his other hand to eat more nibbles. He could picture it now, driving the Bentley with its windows rolled down, feeling the warm summer air rushing past them, holding Aziraphale’s hand across the shifter just like he’d wanted to for ages. Oh, it would be grand.

He tested his jaw and said, “how about next week?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “That sounds lovely, my dear.”

After another mouse and nearly the entire plate of bread and sausage had disappeared, and they were each contemplating Gabriel with some anticipation, they were startled by the sound of a notification from Grindr.

Aziraphale went scarlet. “Oh, for—” He pulled out his mobile phone and stared in disgust at the screen. “ _Honestly._ There’s a way to be filthy without being vile.”

“What is it?” Crowley lifted his head, amused.

Aziraphale huffed and showed him his phone. On the screen, there was a terrible photo of a man’s arsehole, with an attached message that said, ‘eat this.’ 

Crowley snorted. “You know, I honestly downloaded that app just to annoy horny men,” he said.

Aziraphale gave him an aggrieved look. “I’m sure.”

“I only responded to you because you were so polite,” Crowley confessed. “The bloke before you sent me a picture of his cock and I told him it looked like a yam.”

“Did it?” asked Aziraphale.

“Yeah, he was obviously using spray tanner.” Crowley snickered. “I think I’m gonna delete it. There are better ways to annoy people.”

Aziraphale shot him a mischievous look. “But then how will we contribute to the greater good by teaching these chaps some manners?”

Crowley’s mouth fell open as he watched Aziraphale carefully type out, ‘one should never send an unsolicited photo of one’s bum, lest one end up resembling the arse they wanted eaten. Please avail yourself to both a bidet and an etiquette lesson. Cheers,’ and hit send. 

“Vicious,” he said admiringly.

“You saw the toilet paper too,” Aziraphale sniffed.

Crowley had, but he didn’t want to ruin what was left of lunch. “You know,” he said, changing the subject, “we ought to get a charcuterie plate from Bar Termini when we visit the South Downs. It is where we had our first date, sort of.”

Aziraphale’s entire face lit up. “Oh, yes! That’s perfect! Crowley, you clever thing, I love that idea.”

Crowley beamed. He didn’t even have to pretend he wasn’t pleased. Aziraphale had seen him at his absolute least cool, and still loved him.

“Now,” said Aziraphale, “I think it’s time we show Gabriel what comes of being such a judgmental wanker.”

Crowley, charmed, laughed. “Into the soup!” he agreed enthusiastically as Aziraphale picked up Gabriel by the tail.

“I never liked him,” Aziraphale remarked idly as he swished the rat around.

“He sucks,” Crowley agreed.

“Well, let’s see if he’s more palatable as an entree than as a supervisor,” said Aziraphale, holding it up.

As Crowley stretched out his jaw, he considered that this had, objectively speaking, been a completely batshit week. Not five days ago he’d been sat in front of the telly feeling sorry for himself and preparing to eat this very rat cold and unseasoned all by himself. And then, as always, Aziraphale had happened, and turned things on their head in all the best ways. After they’d stopped the world ending, they’d dined at the Ritz just as Aziraphale had promised that night in 1967 over holy water and an unspoken declaration. Now they were going on a picnic. They’d slept in the same bed. They’d done things no other angel and demon had even dreamed of, and by God, Crowley was looking forward to every new thing the Earth could offer now that he had Aziraphale by his side with no reservations.

He swallowed Gabriel’s face, amused even though he couldn’t smile back at Aziraphale’s delighted grin. Eating a dead rat had never felt so good.


End file.
